Birds of a Feather
by Elielephant
Summary: "I just wanna save you."
1. Episode 1: Hunger, Chapter I

**After listening to some feedback and giving it some thought, I have decided to split up the chapter into smaller parts. This whole thing is very much an experiment, which I guess also includes formatting? So, if you see a ton of chapter updates, just know that there is nothing new...just dividing up things.**

**Warning: This has dark themes that may not be suitable for some readers. If that makes you uncomfortable, this might not be the story for you, so it's okay to click away.**

**Double Warning: Hawks' personality in this story is extremely OoC. It may be weird or cringey. If that is not your taste, I recommend clicking away.**

**Triple Warning: This was an experimental piece for the purpose of narrative transitions and foreshadowing. It is long for those reasons, but it may be considered boring because of the length. It's understandable if you don't want to waste your time on something this long, so it's okay to click away.**

**Quadruple Warning: You have been warned, continue at your own discretion. **

* * *

**Birds of a Feather**

**Episode 1: Hunger**

**Chapter**** I: August 2nd**

_The rubble fell like rain; she was showered in debris. There was chaos and there was panic. Everyone was running, everyone was screaming, but she couldn't join them. She wanted to. She wanted to flee. She wanted to fly away as fast as she could, but she couldn't move. Her legs wouldn't listen to the horrified screech of her brain. Her white wings were tiny and frail; they were unable to carry her away. The ground was shaking; it was cracked, split open, torn apart. She stared up at the sky. It was dark; chunks of asphalt and iron rods were falling down. They were so clear, same as the semi truck barreling toward her like a rocket hailing from the atmosphere. Then suddenly her vision blurred. Colors swirled together like watercolors and she tried to focus, but it was difficult. Her eyes felt glued shut, and the last color she saw was red._

_A bright, soft red that consumed her._

Birdie gasped, and her emerald eyes snapped open wide with terror. She shot up in bed, her breath shallow and quick as she recoiled from the nightmare. She was covered in sweat. Her pale skin was slick in it; it dripped from her nose and chin onto the thin white sheets that covered her lap.

The rush subsided as she inspected her surroundings. The color white was overwhelming; everything was white. It was soothing. The brightness filtered through the window and made the room glow. The walls, the tiled floors, the ceiling, and even the furniture, it was all white and sterile like the smell of disinfectant and bleach lingering in the air. The sensations made a new wave of dread wash over her when she realized where she was.

The whiplash of her nightmare stung. It scorched through her mind like a wildfire. It was not a dream, it was a memory.

Her anxiety skyrocketed as the unfulfilled feelings from that moment resurfaced and her body desired the ecstasy of escape. She leapt out of the bed, her little white wings desperately trying to improve her speed, and she made a break for it.

Then the door flew open, and Birdie collided with something that was extremely soft. It was like a springy cushion that pushed her back into the room.

"_Miss Birdie!?_"

A plump woman—no, a _sheep_ of a woman stood in the doorway with a bewildered look in her beady black eyes.

Birdie was dazed by the sight for a second, but then she remembered that the world was filled with colorful Quirks. Even she had a pair of white wings thanks to her dove quirk; tiny useless ones, but wings nonetheless.

The stunned expression on the woman's wooly face hardened and she angrily huffed. She marched into the room and swiftly grabbed Birdie by the scruff of her hospital gown, hauling her back to bed.

"Don't you move a muscle now, honey," the woman scolded sternly as she pulled the sheets back over Birdie. "You ain't physically hurtin', but your mental state is shot. So, just simmer down while I do a little check up, you got that?"

Birdie nodded silently. The presence of another person calmed her nerves and she slowly collected her composure.

"Good," the woman grunted, but there was a confident gleam in her dark eyes. "They don't call me the _Remarkaaaaable_ Nurse Sheep for nothin' now, honey."

Birdie blinked slowly.

Nurse Sheep ignored Birdie's baffled expression. The nurse rolled up the pink sleeves of her sweater over her elbows, revealing curly ivory wool on her forearms. Then she pulled a pair of green latex gloves over her pale white hands with a loud snap and got to work.

Nurse Sheep thoroughly inspected and probed Birdie. The nurse examined everything: Birdie's pulse, pupil dilation, blood pressure, heart rate, temperature and even some reflexes. After each little test, the nurse would hum a long note, then jolt down her conclusions on the clipboard she had on hand.

"There we go," Nurse Sheep scribbled down the last of her notes with a satisfied huff. "You're right as rain at the moment, Miss Birdie. It was a nasty little accident with the freeway bridge almost collapsin' on you, but you were rescued by quite the _remarkaaaaable_ young man."

Birdie's eyebrow rose when she saw the little hearts fluttering around the nurse like anxious butterflies. "Um, who?"

"Why you were saved by _Hawks_, honey! _Hawks!_" Nurse Sheep gasped in pure delight, placing her hands to her blushing wooly cheeks. "The Winged Hero 'imself! He escorted you to the hospital personally like a perfect little gentleman savin' a damsel from dismay. Oh Lordie, I just right had a heart attack when I saw 'im cradlin' you in his arms so romantically!" The nurse paused to take in a deep breath and she fanned herself with her hand. "My, my, he's quite the dreamy little charmer, ain't he? Oh, my husband would be in a huff if he heard me swoonin' like this 'bout a younger man."

Birdie felt a little bead of sweat on her brow. She didn't know how to respond to that. Though, the one-sidedly awkward tension was quickly relieved by a few tiny beeps.

Nurse Sheep snapped back to reality; the little hearts buzzing around her head popped instantly. A hard expression crossed her wooly features and she dug through the pocket of her pink sweater, pulling out a small red beeper. She looked at the tiny screen with a sigh. "Duty calls, honey." She turned to Birdie with a small smile. "Once we finish up the rest of your tests and there're no issues, you're free to go, you got that?"

"...What if there _is_ an issue?" Birdie asked softly and she anxiously fiddled with the sheet's hem. "I really can't afford to be in the hospital right now..."

Nurse Sheep closed her tiny eyes and exhaled sharply. "Don't worry 'bout it, honey," the nurse continued and she reached out to ruffle Birdie's ivory curls. "Just take it easy, and rest until I make it back, you got that?"

"O—Okay," Birdie mumbled, but she hardly felt reassured.

"Now _rest_," Nurse Sheep ordered firmly before she left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Then Birdie was alone, and the silence opened her mind to ponder about how awful her situation was. Her memories of the accident left a lump in her throat and the idea of staying in the hospital gave her a headache. She didn't know how long she was unconscious for and she should have asked Nurse Sheep. The last thing Birdie remembered was leaving work late that night, but even that memory was blurry.

Birdie sighed, and she scratched the back of her head in frustration. She always tried to be positive, but she didn't know how to see the bright side. Her shoulders drooped and her little white wings went limp, dangling around her arms. All she could do was wait and hope the nurse would return soon.

Then her thoughts were interrupted when the door opened again. She didn't think her prayers would be answered so soon, but it was like a little glimmer of hope. Sadly, it was not Nurse Sheep, and Birdie momentarily forgot the nurse when she saw who was standing in the open doorway.

It was Hawks, the Winged Hero himself.

_Red_. Bright red wings that looked soft to the touch. The memories of him grabbing her, holding her tightly, and so closely to his chest, it came back. The memories flooded back to her when she saw his beautiful red wings.

Hawks was outfitted in his full hero gear. There were tiny green leaves in his messy blonde hair, and small cuts decorated his thick suede jacket and baggy pants. It seemed like the hero just got back from a minor altercation. Despite his appearance, Hawks calmly observed the room, his sharp amber eyes landing on her instantly. Then a large grin spread across his lips when he saw she was awake.

"_Good_ _after_...noon..." Hawks' tone started out chipper, but then trailed off. His smile faltered and he frowned. His brows furrowed in thought as he looked down at the manila folder in his hands then back at her. "_Birdie_, was it? I hope you don't mind a visitor when you just woke up."

Birdie shook her head. "H—Hello..." she greeted him, and she subconsciously played with the white plumage of her tiny wing.

Hawks' smile returned as he closed the door to her room and stepped in. "Good to see you're making a speedy recovery." He continued brightly, strolling over to her bedside. "I visited earlier this morning, but you were still out cold. Nurse Sheep was pretty persistent 'bout visiting later. She even recommended..._often?_" He scratched his cheek in confusion, but then shrugged. "Whatever that meant."

Birdie groaned and she started to anxiously pluck loose feathers from her tiny wing. "O—Oh no, oh no, oh no..."

Hawks cocked his head to the side, a perplexed gleam behind his transparent blue visor. "What? Would you prefer the No. 1 Hero instead?" He teased with a coy grin. "I'm always second best no matter how fast I get, eh?"

Birdie yelped, grabbing a fist full of her feathers. An embarrassed blush stained her cheeks. "N—No! That's not what I meant!" Her fingers raked through her wing, making more loose feathers plummet to the floor. "It's just that—I just can't—" She paused, the red hue draining from her cheeks. "I just can't spend any time in the hospital..." Then a solemn expression overwhelmed her features. Her pale skin became whiter, and a dark shadow crossed her emerald eyes. She let go of her wing, her hands falling in her lap. "I don't have insurance..."

"..."

Birdie chuckled nervously, and she returned to plucking feathers from her wing. "Not the brightest idea, is it? But you know an apple a day keeps the doctor away..."

"..."

Birdie's attempt to defuse the tension failed. There was a moment of awkward silence between the two. Birdie felt his hot gaze like it was boring a hole through her soul. She focused her attention on the window and watched the white clouds lazily roll across the blue sky. His stare made her uncomfortable, just like the others that knew little about her situation. It was something she had to deal with, but every time made her feel even more shameful.

"...Don't worry," Hawks finally spoke. "I'll take care of it."

It was Birdie's turn to stare, burning a hole through him with amazement. Hawks didn't look a bit uncomfortable; he merely smiled.

"W—Wait? A—Are you serious? Y—You don't have t-t-t-to do that!" Birdie tripped over her words. "I—I really do appreciate it. _Really_ appreciate it, but I don't know how long I'll be in the hospital and I don't want you to—"

"It's okay," Hawks' smile never faded. "You should be discharged soon after all."

"B—But—!"

"I said it was _okay_," Hawks emphasized the word as he cut her off, chuckling lightly. "Y'know what they say: don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

Birdie stared at him, bewildered and confused. She was unsure of how to process the sudden act of kindness from a stranger. She didn't like receiving such financial help from others, but it was either accept Hawks' offer or go into colossal debt that would ruin her life forever.

"...Oh, okay then," Birdie mumbled, and she smiled gently. "I'll accept your offer. Thank you very much."

For once she would discard her stubborn determination to be independent; the bill was already due. There would be no way to recover her finances if she paid for a night or more in the hospital out of pocket. Though, she had to figure out a way to repay Hawks for his kindness. The apparent lack of ideas made her fidget, and the dove returned to plucking loose feathers from her wing, adding more to the large pile already on the floor.

Then her eyes opened wide. "_Wait!_" She gasped, her wing flicking out of her hands and then both of them flittered wildly with excitement. "Did you say I will be discharged soon!?"

"Yeah," Hawks' smile brightened. "Nurse Sheep gave me your final test results and everything looks okay. Nothing abnormal at all."

The excitement melted from Birdie's face and she frowned, her cheeks turning white. "S—She gave them to you...?"

"A little strange, yeah?" Hawks chuckled stiffly, a small smirk on his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I was chatting with her on the way to your room, but she got called in for an emergency and asked me to play messenger," and he waved the folder in his hand as proof. It had her name stamped on the front, and it was thin with a few blue papers sticking out the side.

Birdie's little wings wrapped around her shoulders. It seemed odd, but she had to think rationally. Hawks was a _hero_. He was a _trusted_ hero; the second best hero in the nation. He was a hero in so many ways: he saved her life and her financial crisis. Plus, Nurse Sheep had asked him. In the end, it took little to convince her, and she smiled at him. "Thank you," she told him again, and she bowed her head. "Thank you so much. For everything. I don't know how I'll ever repay you, but I will. I promise."

"Don't worry. It's the least I can do."

Birdie's brow furrowed and she looked back up at him. "What?"

Hawks heartily laughed and reached out to ruffle her ivory curls. "I got to save quite a pretty birdy last night," he chirped. "I was the one repaying you."

Birdie blushed at the compliment. Nurse Sheep was right: Hawks was a dreamy little charmer.

"You should be free to go at anytime," Hawks continued and he pivoted on his heel, making his way to the exit. "I'll handle the bills, so take your time and relax easy." Then he opened the door, but before he left, he looked over his shoulder with a smirk. "I'll see you soon, Birdie."

The smoothness of his words cut through her like butter. Her face started glowing like a red beacon in response. The little dove was so stunned by his words that she didn't notice him close the door and then five minutes later it reopened again.

"_Honey!_"

It was Nurse Sheep. The plump little sheep of a woman rushed into the room with a giddy look in her beady eyes. Laying over the nurse's arm was two familiar pieces of cloth. The first was worn leather, which was Birdie's trusted purse that had survived well through the years. The other was Birdie's strapless summer dress. Nurse Sheep threw the articles of clothing at the foot of the bed and then she grabbed Birdie's hand, holding it tightly with both her latex covered ones.

"Did you hear that!" The nurse was ecstatic with joy, jumping up and down like a lovestruck teenager. "He didn't even bother with sayin' anythin' 'bout hopin' to see you soon! He went straight for that sweet ol' confident direct approach of wooin' you! Oh honey, sweet little child, you are too damn lucky! I can't even handle it! _Whoo-ee,_" Then the nurse started to fan herself with one hand. "This excitement is gettin' me all bothered. _Ooh_, I just can't even."

Birdie felt a tiny bead of sweat on her brow. "O—Oh..."

"_Now, now. Now, now. Now, now._" Nurse Sheep chanted as she composed herself. She closed her eyes and exhaled sharply, the aura of professionalism returning to her figure. "Did you get the word, honey?" The nurse then asked. "Did Hawks show you your file?"

Birdie paused, her cheeks losing color. "...Actually no, he didn't show me. He just..._told_ me."

"Oh Lordie!" Nurse Sheep huffed, aggravated. She placed her hands on her hips and then shook her head. "He must of been so damned distracted bein' that darin' little charmer that he is that he forgot to _give_ it to you."

"..." Birdie was at a loss of words.

"Well, at least that vixen told you." Nurse Sheep sighed. "I'll hafta hunt 'im down and snatch it. He knows better than to run off with my medical files. This ain't the first time he's accidentally done that."

Birdie restlessly shifted in her seat. "What a scatter brain... He's going too fast to realize he forgot his original mission," she chuckled, and she shakily plucked white feathers from her wing.

"Oh, honey, it ain't nothing to be worried 'bout." Nurse Sheep reassured the dove with a grin. "I've known that little charmer for _years_. He's a good boy. He'd never wanna see his _Remarkaaaable_ Nurse Sheep in stitches, 'specially since I'm the one that stitches 'im up. I'm sure he dropped it off at the nurse's station, all bothered 'cause he didn't realize. He probably even told Bunny and BJ not to say a peep to little ol' me. Too bad for 'im I already know, but I may let it slide, just this once," and then the nurse winked at her.

Birdie paused, unsure of how to react. Though, seeing Nurse Sheep's carefree attitude helped the dove mimic the nurse's calm composure. Then she nodded.

"Now git on outta bed, honey." Nurse Sheep ushered Birdie to move. "I'm sure you got places to be and things to do. Hawks is takin' care of things down at the nurse's station. You'll just hafta sign some paperwork and we're outta your hair."

Birdie nodded again and quickly hopped out of bed as Nurse Sheep left the room to give her some privacy. The dove removed the hospital gown then put on her dress, smoothing out the bright orange fabric so the faded floral pattern of yellow marigolds wasn't wrinkled. Then she slipped on her black flats and swung her purse over her shoulder. The heavy pack thumped against her thigh, rattling the large arrangement of items inside. She quickly looked inside and saw that everything was the way it was the night before. She had her old orange wallet, the three tiny books she always had on hand, the little first-aid kit, but she could have sworn she had a bottle of tea. However, a missing bottle of tea wasn't as important as the other things.

Then she blinked when she felt something vibrating against her leg, and her emerald eyes went wide.

"My phone!"

She rooted through her purse frantically and fished out her cellphone out of the bottom of the bag. The plexiglas screen was riddled with fine cracks, but Birdie could see she had over two hundred unread text messages and about one hundred missed calls. Most of the notifications were addressed from a frantic Mrs. Ox_,_ and a handful were from a concerned Mr. Ox, but her most recent one was from Manager Wolfe, her boss.

The little white bubble ominously read: _where are you, 36?_

Birdie pursed her lips, a bead of sweat trickling down her cheek. It was never a good sign when her boss referred to her as _36_; it meant he was angry and her head was on the chopping block. The moment she texted either of the Ox couple, she knew they'd haul her back home. As much as it pained her, she ignored all messages safe for the one from her boss.

_I was in an accident_, she quickly typed away on the phone's keypad. _Spent the night in the hospital, but I'm fine and allowed to leave. I'm heading to work soon._

Birdie waited, watching the little bubble with an ellipsis in the center.

_Hurry_, was all he wrote back.

Birdie sighed in relief. Then she tucked her phone back in her purse and rushed out of the room.

The hospital's white halls were wide and empty. The only sound to accompany the clicks of her heels was the hum of the large lights hanging from the ceiling. Then the noises suddenly bloomed as she got closer to the lobby. The halls became crowded with doctors in pristine lab coats, nurses in colorful scrubs, and patients being escorted by wheelchair.

Birdie entered the lobby through a set of heavy metal doors that automatically swung open. Tall windows overtook the front wall, spanning from corner to corner. The glass was like a canvas that depicted the busy cityscape outside; cars and buses zipped by on the street and people rushed across the sidewalk. The lobby interior was filled with rows of black chairs, and metal side-tables interrupted the leather pattern. A wide variety of people waited in those chairs, the different marvelous Quirks showcasing how curious the world had evolved.

Birdie shook off the wonder and approached the nurse's station beside the doorway. The station was surrounded by a tall pink counter, hiding the desks on the other side. On the countertop there were multiple trays of blank patient forms, cups of black pens, and three copper plaques.

One of the plaques was engraved with _Nurse Sheep_ in sharp print while the other two had unfamiliar names. A single nurse was behind the counter, sitting directly in front of the plaque that was labelled _Nurse Bluejay_.

The nurse was lounging in her seat. Her knees rested against the edge of the desk, and her beautiful cobalt wings laid across her shoulders like a shawl. Her frizzy blue hair was sloppily pulled into a bun atop her head, and there were large bags under her blue eyes. The nurse had a blank expression on her face as she lazily scrolled through the feed on her large blue android.

Birdie stood there, waiting impatiently for the nurse to notice her, but Nurse Bluejay never looked up from her phone.

Time dragged on into an uncomfortable silence.

Birdie grabbed her wing, her fingers fiddling with loose white feathers. "I—I'm here to check out..." the dove finally spoke up, her voice crackling like broken glass.

Nurse Bluejay's thumb paused. The blank look warped into annoyance, and her sharp icy blue eyes inspected Birdie critically. Then the nurse rolled her eyes, and her large cobalt wings bristled when she pinched a paper between her thumb and forefinger. She held the medical form like it was a piece of rotten meat, and she slid it across the countertop with her fingertip. "Here," the nurse was short; the tone venomous with distaste.

Birdie fidgeted. She looked down at the release form, glancing over the records and saw that it was almost completely filled out with another hand safe for one blank spot at the bottom. The dove grabbed one of the pens from a cup on the counter and then scribbled her name down on the dotted line.

"Everything's set," Nurse Bluejay plucked the paper from the counter and then dropped it, letting the form flutter onto her desk. "You can go."

"...Thank you," Birdie bowed her head, but the nurse merely grunted and was glued to her phone again. Birdie clutched the leather strap of her purse. "Rough night, I take it?" The dove smiled weakly. "I hope I didn't cause too much trouble."

"Oh yeah, a sleeping log caused me _so_ much trouble," Nurse Bluejay snorted and scowled at Birdie. Her sharp gaze pierced through the dove's soul. "I had to waste a shift caring for a _charity_ case. So yeah, _suuuuper_ rough night."

Birdie flinched, the harshness of those words cut through an old wound that never healed right. "W—What?"

"_Whatever,_" Nurse Bluejay rolled her icy blue eyes.

"B—But," Birdie stuttered, trembling slightly. "I—I never asked for any of this."

"That's what _charity_ means, dumbass." Nurse Bluejay sneered. "It's annoying to see what girls like you do to get his attention day in and day out. All for twisted love, their minute fame or buckets of money. I'm _sick_ of it. I absolutely _despise_ wasting my time with damned _charity_ cases when I should be worrying about _actual_ patients that need my help."

Birdie shifted uncomfortably on her heels as her heart fell into the pit of her stomach. There was a clear misunderstanding, but she couldn't find the words to defend herself. Anything she said would fall onto deaf ears; that's always how it worked. She should have never accepted Hawks' offer; she just shouldn't have.

"I'm sure your mama raised you better than _that_, BJ. That ain't any way to talk to a patient, you damn pill." Nurse Sheep suddenly appeared behind Nurse Bluejay and whacked the younger nurse swiftly upside the head.

"_Ouch!_" Nurse Bluejay seethed in pain. Her phone clattered to the desk as her hands clutched the back of her head.

Nurse Sheep sent the younger nurse a scornful glare. Then the older nurse's expression softened when she looked at Birdie. "Remember what I told you: he's a good boy and a little charmer to boot. So, you ain't got a reason to be shy or guilty for acceptin' his help, honey. Hawks' _wanted_ to help you because he's thinkin' of your safety in more ways than one."

"Really, Sheep? _Really?"_ Nurse Bluejay was not amused. The younger nurse eyed her senior angrily. "They are complete strangers. No one just pays for a stranger's medical bills out of pocket without a reason."

"Damn right, honey," Nurse Sheep was blunt.

"..." Birdie shifted awkwardly at the implication.

Nurse Bluejay's icy blue eyes narrowed into two sharp slits. "What the fuck are you trying to imply?"

Nurse Sheep cast aside the younger nurse's question with a wave of her hand. The older nurse turned her attention back to Birdie, a warm expression on her wooly face. "That's the way he is. So, don't let that kindness go to waste, you got that?"

Birdie pursed her lips and glanced away.

The kind words of the older nurse were genuine, but weak against the painful feeling building in the pits of her stomach. The dove mustered up a small amount of strength and smiled. "Yes, ma'am. Don't worry, I'll find a way to repay him for his kindness. It won't go to waste."

Nurse Bluejay rolled her eyes, unconvinced.

Nurse Sheep, on the other hand, smiled happily. "That's right, honey! I'm sure he's waitin' to see you again!"

Hawks had mentioned seeing her again, which put his very straightforward remark into perspective. She did say she would repay him, and she would be true to her word.

"Yup," Birdie nodded, her tiny white wings lively fluttering against her back. "I'll see him again when I can."

"_Oh brother,_" Nurse Bluejay snorted.

"_BJ,_" Nurse Sheep snapped, glaring at the younger nurse.

Birdie sighed, but a small smile pulled at the corner of her lips. She bowed her head to Nurse Sheep and said: "Thank you."

"Anytime, honey." Nurse Sheep grinned and reached over the counter to ruffle the dove's ivory curls.

Birdie waved goodbye to the nurse and then quickly exited the hospital. The hustle and bustle consumed her the moment she stepped outside. Birdie was caught up with the flow of the city, traveling with the rapids of swift feet. She rushed down busy sidewalks and crossed clear streets. In no time, she was outside the tall building that hosted the restaurant where she worked. She drifted from the flooded sidewalk and hurried down the side alley to the rear entrance.

Sous-Chef Frog was standing outside the metal door, leaning against the brick wall as he smoked a long cigar between his green lips. His large yellow eyes flickered and shifted as Birdie approached. "Lunch rush is over," he croaked roughly. "Take your time, Birdie. We heard the word, so chill."

Birdie clutched the leather strap of her purse and then nodded to the sous-chef. "Thank you, sir."

Sous-Chef Frog nodded in return and he opened the metal door labeled _Wolf Den's Employee Entrance _for her.

Birdie went through and entered the backroom. It was a small room nestled right behind the kitchen. The area was filled with the tasteful aromas of chicken stew, the restaurant's specialty. The backroom also housed a few lockers along the red walls, and a long shoji divider to change behind. A television sat on a wooden counter, along with a microwave and _thee_ broken toaster. In the middle of the room was a small metal table and five matching chairs that rested on top of a shaggy green carpet.

Birdie went to her locker and quickly put on her uniform. She smoothed out the wrinkles of her white blouse, brushed the lint off her black dress pants, and adjusted her tiny green apron around her waist. Then she looked at the mirror hanging in her locker, tying up her ivory curls in a messy bun and clipping her long bangs to the side with a few bobby-pins. She did her best to ignore the bags under her eyes and smiled, her tiny white wings flickering happily. Then she bit her lip and glanced away from the mirror, her wings drooping against her shoulders.

She still looked like a mess, therefore she would be a mess. It was something she couldn't help, but it made her anxious. Her little hands started to shake, and she clasped them tightly to try and control the tremors.

_You'll be fine, Birdie, _she slapped her cheeks lightly to clear her thoughts. _But it's hard not to worry… Just don't dwell, just don't dwell, just don't dwell. A rough morning does not mean a rough day. Yeah, that's right, Birdie._ Birdie exhaled and mustered up a brave face as she pivoted on her heel, ready to face the day.

"._..And that wraps up the weather report for the week. Looks like it'll be sunny skies with little chance of rain. It's that time of season for a bright but hot August summer. We'll be needing that warming atmosphere after the terrible accident that happened late last night_."

Birdie paused.

Her emerald eyes opened wide and she stared, watching the broadcast intensely. The tiny CTR television on the counter was playing the news. The news about her very vague and rough night. Apart of her had hoped the night would remain obscure and be easily forgotten, but now she was sucked in and forced to see.

"_After the initial investigation, the police department has finally made an official statement._"

The image of the newscaster disappeared and was replaced with a clip of the police chief. The man stood tall behind the podium that housed a wide arrangement of microphones labeled with different news agency logos. He had the head of a boxer, but his Dog Quirk didn't affect his intimidating appearance; he still emitted an aura of authority as he spoke.

"_Last night, heroes and police were in hot pursuit of villains that had stolen a shipment of valuable materials for creating hero gear and weapons, ruff_." The chief addressed those listening. "_To create a diversion, it is believed the villains caused an explosion while crossing the freeway bridge downtown. Heroes and police had to redirect their focus on rescue since there was a large population of civilians underneath the bridge. Luckily, with the courageous and swift talents of Hawks entering the scene, no lives were taken and the other heroes were able to chase and capture the villains—_"

Birdie tuned out the police chief when a small clip of Hawks appeared. The winged hero dove from the heavens. His bright red wings grew smaller and smaller as his feathers dispersed, zigzagging through the debris to save innocent lives. Then Birdie saw herself; she recognized her vivid orange dress and tiny white wings. She just stood there, frozen like a statue as the world around her went to hell. Then Hawks grabbed her, flying quickly off screen as a semi truck hit the ground where she had been seconds ago.

Birdie anxiously fiddled with her green apron and stared at her feet, scuffing the top of one of her black flats with the sole of the other. The scene was surreal to experience, like watching one of her memories from the outside in. What was wrong with her at that moment? She couldn't answer that, and that gap caused a small wave of panic.

"_36._"

Birdie nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the low growl behind her. She whipped around, a dark shadow engulfing her tiny form and she looked up at her boss meekly. "Y—Yes, sir?"

The manager of Wolf's Den was tall, fit and had the head of a well-groomed wolf. The pristine black suit easily molded to his physique, highlighting and showcasing every muscle on his body. His grey fur was long, but the hair was styled with scented gel, making him look like a polished gentleman.

The manager glared down at her, his Wolf Quirk making him look even more frightening as he snarled. "Stop daydreaming," he snapped. "You have a job to do."

"Y—Yes, sir!" Birdie nodded and then she grabbed her wing, her fingers raking through her white feathers. "I—I'm sorry, sir."

The manager eyed her coldly, his long snout twitching from aggravation. Then a tiny bell in the distance drew his attention. He huffed and pivoted on his heel sharply, waltzing across the wooden floors with heavy footsteps. He left the backroom in three large steps, and Birdie shuffled after him quickly.

Birdie walked through the noisy kitchen and then stood at the back of the restaurant beside the server's station. She watched as the manager weaved around the decorative square tables and approached a young couple standing by the entrance.

"_Welcome to Wolf's Den,_" the manager bowed deeply. His sharp tone had melted to something soft as he greeted the new customers. "Table for two, I presume? Please, follow me." The manager guided the couple to a small table by the front window. His long arms easily pulled out the chairs for each patron and then he magically produced two menus from his sleeves; the trick left the couple in awe. "A server will be with you shortly," the manager told the customers with a warm smile and bow. Then he turned around, the soft expression hardening when he looked directly at her.

Birdie flinched under his icy glare and she subconsciously started to prune the loose plumes in her wing. She hadn't started work yet and was in trouble already.

"Birdie?"

She was startled by the sudden voice. Her wing flicked out of her hands and smacked the person behind her. Birdie whirled around with a gasp, and an apologetic gleam crossed her emerald eyes. "Sorry, Fox... I got a little spooked..."

Fox brushed away white feathers clinging to his tan nose and cheeks. He gathered the little plumes, adding them to the collection already in his hand. He smiled softly, his brown eyes warm enough to calm Birdie's anxieties. The fuzzy red ears sticking out from his curly brown hair started to twitch slightly, and his tail flicked back and forth.

"You're jumpier than usual," Fox worriedly frowned. "I guess it would be a given, though..." and he scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Are you even okay, Birdie? You had one hell of a night. I'm honestly surprised you came to work after what happened..."

Birdie groaned as she grabbed her wing and started to pick loose feathers again. "Please don't remind me. I want to pretend that it never happened. I just need to get through work, then go home and hit the hay. Sleep is the world's reset button, you know?"

"Come on, Birdie... I can tell you're worried." Fox sighed, easily reaching out to catch her feathers so they didn't make a mess on the floor. "I know your financial issues are..._troubling_," he said as he stuffed the little feathers in the front pocket of his green apron. "But taking _one_ day off isn't going to kill you. I'm sure Manager Wolfe would have let you go home. Hell, he probably would of personally driven you."

"Not when he's in this scary mood," Birdie mumbled, rapidly plucking more feathers from her wing, but Fox was still quick to catch them. "He's so snippy from stress I think he might snap me in half. He's even calling me _36_. That's always a sign that someone's going to get fired..."

"It's gonna be a stressful week." Fox sighed again, this time the note was long and filled with annoyance. "We're understaffed since Pidgey up and quit. The delivery truck was unluckily on the collapsed bridge. All the menus had to change to fit with locally bought ingredients. The regulars were in a huff this morning and afternoon about not having their usuals..." he trailed off for a moment to utter a weak chuckle. "It was not a happy place, you're lucky you missed it."

Birdie smiled sheepishly. "Sorry," she apologized. "No. 36 is here now, so you don't have to bear that burden alone anymore, No. 1. Let's do our best."

"Of course," Fox replied with a wide grin and then stepped aside with a small bow. "Ladies first."

Birdie nodded and walked onto the restaurant's main floor to begin her day.

Work was difficult, stressful and nerve-wracking, but on a different level than normal. She doubled her record of incorrect orders in the first thirty minutes and spilt triple the amount of drinks. One even got on a customer; he was covered in orange juice from head to toe. She got an earful for her clumsiness and the stink eye from the manager. If it wasn't for Fox, she felt like she would have lost her job by now. Fox was a smooth talker. He could calm even the most livid of customers with just a single smile. He was the perfect server, and he was saddled with the absolute worst.

"Today was not the best, you two." Manager Wolfe spoke to the servers sternly. He paced back and forth in front of them, walking intimidatingly slow with his hands behind his back and his head held high. "There were many..._accidents_."

Birdie winced, closing her eyes tightly when she heard the sharp tone of his voice. She braced herself for a scolding.

"The Wolf's Den may be small," Manager Wolfe continued. "But it is a business connected to the mighty Wolfe Empire. It upholds a high standard of service, and I do not want to dishonor my family name. Tomorrow I expect to see better. Understood? 36? No. 1?"

"_Yes, sir._" The servers said in unison, but one voice was weaker than the other.

"Good," Manager Wolfe stopped his pacing and nodded in approval at the two servers. Then he adjusted his suit jacket and looked down at the golden watch around his wrist. "I have other matters to attend to and shall take my leave early. You two close up shop."

"_Yes, sir._"

Manager Wolfe made a quick exit through the back, leaving Fox and Birdie to follow through with his final orders. Fox was always in charge of clearing and resetting the tables, washing the large windows, and tidying the long bar and it's wide arrange of glasses. Birdie was left to sweep the floors; it was the only task the manager trusted her to do. When the two were finished, they removed their uniforms, hung them up in their lockers and put on their normal clothes. Then they left through the back exit, taking the tiny side alley to the main street.

The sun had set and the black sky was void of stars, but the brightness of the nightlife made the city a colorful new place. Dozens upon dozens of people roamed the streets, eagerly walking to their next destination. They wore flashy clothing and accessories, the vivid fabrics and glossy metals sparkling in the neon lights of signs hanging from buildings. It made Birdie and Fox stand out among the night dwellers. Birdie was back in her comfortable orange strapless dress, and Fox merely wore a blue beater and black shorts. They practically looked like commoners among royalty.

"_Phew!_" Fox wiped the back of his hand across his brow, removing the layer of sweat that accumulated on his tan skin. His red tail flickered back and forth in annoyance. "It's hot out tonight, huh, Birdie? I would have liked a little breeze to walk home in after today...though," he paused and sent her a kind smile. "Despite all the setbacks, it was still a pretty solid day, don't you think?"

Birdie fiddled with the thick leather strap of her purse, and she was silent as she stared down at the sidewalk.

Fox's red ears drooped, and he cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"You don't need to be coy..." Birdie mumbled meekly. "I was awful, and it got you in trouble, too."

Fox sighed. His tiny smile faded into a frown, but there was still a warm twinkle in his brown eyes. "I'm not going to blame you for anything," he stepped closer and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Not even Manager Wolfe yelled at you. I mean, he gave you the _look _because he was stressed, but he knows you had a bad day and were trying your best. I mean, you're not even trained to be a server; you're supposed to be our hostess. You're really stepping up when we're understaffed, so it's the thought that counts. He knows that, and I know that, too."

"...Thank you," Birdie bowed her head to him. Then she looked back up, smiling softly. "Tomorrow I'll do better. I promise. Sleep is the world's reset button, remember?"

Fox remained silent for a moment. He stood there with a look of concentration brimming in his brown eyes. He was focused, _very_ focused, and focused on her. His red ears twitched, and then his hand touched her cheek. "Birdie..."

Birdie froze, unsure of how to react to the sudden touch. His palm was warm. Her body was drawn to the comforting sensation and she didn't move away.

"Do you..." Fox started, but then trailed off. He pursed his lips in thought before continuing. "Do you want me to walk you home? Or at least to the station? I know you don't want me seeing where you live, because, y'know..." then he stopped again, pulling his hand away to sheepishly scratch the back of his head. "I'm really sticking my foot in my mouth, aren't I?"

"It's okay," Birdie smiled softly. "I know what you meant. Thank you for being considerate."

"I'm just really worried about you, Birdie." Fox frowned. "I want to at least make sure you get home okay. Even if it's only part way."

"I—I'll be okay," Birdie replied shakily. Something caused a sense of dread to creep into her mind. It was an invisible monster she couldn't see, but she could feel it clawing at her brain. She took a tiny step back, holding her hands up in defense. "I'll be okay."

Fox frowned. "You're shaking," he murmured gently. "You were shaking all day. Don't think I didn't notice."

"I—I didn't even know I was..." she chuckled weakly, an uneasy grin on her lips. "N—No wonder I was a complete mess..."

"_Birdie_," Fox's tone was firm. "You went through an experience no one should have to go through. It's okay to be scared. You don't need to put on a brave front. It only worries me more. So please, for my peace of mind, let me walk you to the station."

"I—If it's just to the station, I think it would be fine," Birdie stuttered and she reached for her wing, her fingers clutching her white feathers. "B—But just to the station."

Fox smiled, a relieved expression crossing his features. "Of course," he nodded. "Just to the station."

Then he held out his hand for her.

Birdie stared in shock, looking between him and his outstretched hand repeatedly. She processed what was happening and she shifted uncomfortably for a moment, but then hesitantly accepted. His palm was warm against hers and the sensation was welcoming. It relaxed her nerves. She felt calm as they walked hand in hand through the night. Fox had chosen a different path, something that was far away from her usual path; the path that had the accident. It was darker and quieter, but she didn't mind. She felt safe with Fox by her side.

"Can you wait here a minute, Birdie?" Fox suddenly stopped and let go of her hand.

Birdie froze, glancing around the dark and lonely street. The unfamiliar setting was sinking in; she felt like she was quickly drowning in a rush of anxieties. "W—Why?"

Fox sent her a kind smile and placed his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them with comfort. "Just going to get us some water. It's still pretty hot and we should stay hydrated."

Birdie bit her lip and she started to tremble, but she mustered up all her strength to smile. "O—O—O—Okay," her stutter was getting worse. "I—I'll b—be waiting h—here. B—By—By myself..."

"Five minutes," Fox put up his hand in a reassuring manner. "Just five minutes and I'll come running back. It will be like I never left, okay?"

Birdie shakily nodded and then watched Fox leave her side, disappearing around a corner. She stood still in the darkness, frozen like a statue. She focused on breathing evenly, but it wasn't helping. Fear crept into her bones; it cackled ominously like a monster climbing up and down her skin.

It hurt to breathe; her lungs were under pressure and they labored for air. Birdie hugged her arms tightly, her nails digging into her skin. She tried to stop the shaking.

_It's fine_, _Birdie_, she thought to herself. _Are you sure about that? Of course, I'm sure about that! Everything is fine._ _There is nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing wrong. It's just a little dark out, Birdie. You can be alone for five minutes in a dark unfamiliar place. It's just five minutes. Just five minutes, Birdie. It's not like Fox couldn't have taken you with him, but it's okay. Fox will be back soon. Then everything will be better. Everything will be bett—_

_**Pop!**_

The metallic roar made her scream at the top of her lungs and she instinctively dropped to the ground. She curled up into a little ball, burrowing her head in her knees. She covered the back of her head with her hands, and her little white wings shuddered against her shoulders.

_Crrrr—ack._

A manhole cover pierced the street right beside her, the thick metal slicing through the asphalt with ease.

Birdie yelped, tears in her emerald eyes as she desperately scrambled away, crawling to the nearest wall her hands could find. She clung to the bricks, her body trying to blend into the shadows when she watched in horror as a dark figure emerged from the manhole.

"_Ssssssssssssssshit_. Did I _lossse_ 'em?"

The extremely tall and lanky man seethed, his long forked tongue peeking out with every word he said. He reeked of sewage waste and his tattered jeans and hoody were drenched in the foul liquid. He looked around the alley frantically, his reptilian eyes flickering across the shadows. Then the darkness dissolved and the alley was flooded with bright light. The lanky man hissed and he shielded his eyes from the spotlight above. "_Ssssssssshit!_"

A helicopter hovered above the rooftops, the police logo painted on the sides. The heavy piece of machinery was locked onto the villain and the sound of sirens got closer and closer.

"Damnit!" The villain panicked. His golden eyes were wide with fear when he looked down the alley at the main street.

Police cars screeched to a stop one by one, the asphalt smoking from the tread marks. Then officers leapt from their cars and started to charge. The exit was completely blocked, and the ground shook from all other directions as a stampede of feet drew closer and closer.

"Damnit, damnit, damnit!" The villain roared and was ready to jump back into the manhole, but then something caught his eye.

He saw the bright orange fabric of her dress and a devious sneer crossed his lips. The viciousness in his golden eyes made the dove flinched and more tears rolled down her cheeks.

The police were closing in. They poured out of the narrow alleys and onto the small street. The men in blue sped toward them, but the villain darted to the dove and instantly had her in a choke hold. A knife flicked from his stained sleeve and into his scaly hand. Then he held the blade to her neck.

"Don't come over 'ere!" The villain hollered and pressed the sharp edge to her skin, blood slipping down her throat.

The police paused, the men reluctantly listening to the demands.

The villain purred in satisfaction as he slowly slithered to the manhole with Birdie as his shield.

Birdie couldn't move, she couldn't scream, she didn't even want to look. She closed her eyes tightly and prayed. She prayed for someone or something to save her; anything to answer her silent plead for help.

Her answer was a scream, but it was not her own.

There was a blood curdling shriek that pierced through her. It was raw and full of agony right beside her ear. Then the cry was dulled by the sound of rushing wind. Something heavy collided with her, but she was swept away with the force.

She was embraced by a pair of strong arms. She was held so tightly. She was so close to her savior's chest. She felt as light as a feather. When she dared to open her eyes, she saw red.

A bright, soft, and beautiful red.

Feathers floated around her, the red plumes roosting back in the large wings that beat against the wind high above the ground.

_Hawks._

She was cradled protectively in his arms.

The collar of his heavy suede jacket was buttoned up to cover his mouth, but she could still see his eyes. They were blank, void of all emotion as he watched the scene below.

There were red feathers surrounding the villain on the street. The police had tackled the scoundrel to the ground, restrained him with handcuffs and confiscated his weapons.

When Hawks noticed her looking, his expression changed. He closed his eyes and his eyebrows arched as he happily chirped: "What a familiar feeling this is, yeah? When I said I'd see you soon, I didn't think it would be over this, but it's a nice way for me to end the day."

Birdie was silent.

The warmth in Hawks' eyes vanished and he held her tighter in his arms. "...You're shaking."

Birdie nodded dumbly.

"..."

Hawks stared at her for a moment before looking away. He surveyed the scene below and then with two solid flaps of his wings, the hero moved forward and then landed on the sidewalk of the main street. He carefully placed Birdie down and he stood close, inspecting the tiny cut on her neck.

"It's not too deep," he concluded. "Nothing that needs a trip to the hospital. Just make sure to clean it and put a bandage on it when you get home, okay?"

"O—Okay..." Birdie sniffled as she wiped away the tears clinging to her cheeks. Then she shakily grabbed his hand, squeezing his gloved fingers tightly. "Th—Thank you..."

"..."

There was a long pause as they stood there. Birdie took deep breaths in and out. She collected her composure and Hawks' presence was calming her nerves. When she could breathe easy, she let go of his hand and took a tiny step back.

"I'm sorry..." She murmured, sheepishly grabbing her wing and she played with the tiny white feathers. "I'm...I'm not good—"

Hawks held up his hand. "I get it," he told her. "No reason to explain. It's not everyday you get taken hostage by an armed villain. But," he paused, his eyes filled with a kindness and confidence. "Rest easy. With heroes like me around, hopefully it never happens again. I am working hard to make the world a safer place."

"Of course," Birdie bowed her head quickly, blushing slightly. "Thank you for all your hard work."

"It's all apart of the job," Hawks chuckled lightly. "Now run along," he teased, playfully shooing her away. "You don't want to miss your train home, yeah?"

Birdie blinked, processing his words and then her eyes flickered open wide. "You're right! I really should be going now or I'll miss my—!"

"—_Wait!_"

Birdie lost her footing because the ground suddenly gave out beneath her. Hawks reached out in a flash to grab her arm and pulled her back to safety. Birdie collided with his chest, slightly dazed. Then she created distance between them and took a moment to stare down into the darkness of the manhole that was conveniently open with a sign beside it that read: _men at work_.

"Here I thought _third time's the charm_ was a lucky phrase..." Birdie fidgeted and grabbed her wing, shakily plucking loose feathers.

"Fate must really be upset with you," Hawks mused grimly. "I can't even imagine what you did. Karma must be pretty bad, huh?"

Birdie was silent for a moment; at a first glance that is what it seemed like. With how crappy her life had been, why would karma be out for her? Then she pursed her lips and shook her head. "Or...Or maybe fate is on my side for once," she looked up at him fondly. "You were there for me every time. I'd be a goner without you."

Hawks' eyes opened wide in shock; his collar was hiding his mouth, but she could sense that his jaw went slack.

"Thank you very much for saving me, Hawks," Birdie bowed to him respectfully, and when she looked back up at him, she smiled softly. "And I'm sorry for causing you more trouble. I still need to repay you for your help at the hospital. I'm just racking up the bill now, aren't I?"

The initial shock on his features died down quickly and was replaced by a blank look. It was the same hollow expression he had before. Then a dark shadow suddenly crossed his amber eyes.

Birdie shifted anxiously where she stood; he didn't appear happy with what she said. She knew people got annoyed with her ill-timed jokes, but the humor was aimed to lighten the mood on her hardships. She never saw someone get so upset, and she didn't know how to escape his transfixed stare.

"Ma'am?"

The rough voice broke the spell, and Birdie looked away from the hero and toward an officer that approached. The officer's blue uniform was disheveled and wrinkled, and his canine face was covered in a thin layer of sweat, clinging to his yellow fur.

"I'm Officer Y. Labrador," he introduced himself briefly. He took off his hat, placed it over his heart and then bowed his head. "I'm here to make sure you're alright," he continued as he replaced his blue cap back on his head, adjusting it to sit comfortably on his floppy yellow ears. "Do you need to go to the hospital?" He then asked, eyeing her neck worriedly.

Birdie shook her head and covered the light wound with her hand. "I'm okay, sir. It's just a tiny cut I can take care of at home. I just want to get back in one piece at this point..."

Officer Labrador was silent for a moment. His floppy ears twitched as he inspected her closely, but then he nodded. "I will assign another officer to drive you home."

"_Yes!_" Birdie's little white wings fluttered with excitement. "Yes, please! That would be lovely, sir!"

"..."

Hawks was silent during her exchange with the officer, but she could feel it. He was still staring at her with so much darkness in his amber eyes; she didn't know what she did to earn just a wrathful glare, and she didn't want to find out.

"Just wait here, ma'am," Officer Labrador continued. Then the soft expression on his canine features hardened when he glanced at Hawks. "And Detective Shepherd wants to see you," he growled, baring his sharp teeth in irritation. "He's not thrilled that you broke the fugitive's leg."

Hawks mechanically turned to face Officer Labrador, but said nothing. That blank look in his eyes remained. They looked like a hollow void. Then the hero followed the officer to the side street, disappearing into a sea of policemen. Then it was just Birdie. The dove was left alone to shudder at the unknown thoughts going through the hero's head.


	2. Episode 1: Hunger, Chapter II

**After listening to some feedback and giving it some thought, I have decided to split up the chapter into smaller parts. This whole thing is very much an experiment, which I guess also includes formatting? So, if you see a ton of chapter updates, just know that there is nothing new...just dividing up things.**

* * *

**Birds of a Feather**

**Episode 1: Hunger**

**Chapter**** II: August 3rd**

The sun peeked over the horizon. The cityscape was a crisp shade of black, and it was framed by brilliant yellow and orange light. The crooked district was on the outskirts of the city, and there was only a tiny buzz of activity. The morning streets were calm, but still filled with a refreshing breath of life. The business class was on their way to work, men and women rushing down the narrow streets, so no one paid attention to one another. This allowed the dove a moment of peace.

Birdie stood quietly on a long bridge, staring down at the murky water of the river below. Leaning over the railing, she watched a small metal boat pass underneath the bridge. There was a large array of metal crates strapped down on the deck. The sailors were transporting cargo downstream for deliveries, but only the captain was awake at the helm. The other men were resting; sleeping on blankets before they got to their destination.

Seeing the men sleep so blissfully made Birdie feel more aware of how miserable she felt. She could hardly sleep; the nightmares kept her awake. She frowned and gently rubbed the bandage wrapped around her neck. At least she got home safely.

It was a new day and she would hold her head high, despite feeling mentally and physically exhausted. She had to work for the sake of her survival in modern times.

"**STOP!**"

The tranquil mood shattered, and Birdie watched the odd spectacle.

All the men and woman froze in their tracks and stared blankly at a police woman chasing a man covered in a white bedsheet. The man under the sheet waved his bulky arms wildly, and the fancy leather purse in his beefy hand whacked bystanders he passed. People quickly got out of his way as he zigzagged down the street to avoid the policewoman.

"Git out the way! Git out the way, darn it!" The man under the sheet howled, brandishing the leather purse dangerously in front of him. "_Git, git, git!_"

Birdie yelped when the purse hit her upside the head so harshly that she lost her balance. The uneven weight made her tumble over the railing.

Her eyes went wide and she screamed. Her little white wings tried to take flight, but they didn't have the strength to support her weight. The water got closer and she shut her eyes, bracing for the cold impact, but it never came. She only felt a feathery softness.

She cracked open an eye and saw a blur of brilliant red. Large feathers were pinned in the fabric of her orange dress, and they supported her midair. Then suddenly a familiar face was inches away from hers.

Hawks held out his arms underneath her, and the large feathers darted back to his wings. Then she snuggly fell into his grasp.

"Barely a new day and you're already at it?" He mused. The collar of his jacket was buttoned up and his eyes were closed, but she could still see the chipper expression on his face.

Birdie's small white wings drooped against her shoulders, and she clasped her hands together, holding them close to her chest. "M—My days d-d-don't usually start out like this..."

"_Mmhmm._"

The coy look he sent her made her blush. "P—Please don't tease me."

Hawks chuckled lightly, a warm glow radiating from his amber eyes. "At least you're safe, yeah?"

Birdie nodded, a tiny smile on her lips. "Yes, thank you, again."

Hawks was beaming, his expression full of joy. "Off to work?" He then eagerly asked: "Need a lift? I don't mind."

Birdie shook her head. "I appreciate the offer, but my tab with you is just going to get longer at this point. You don't need—"

"I don't _need_ to," Hawks interrupted her. "But maybe I _want_ to. I happen to really enjoy saving your day."

Birdie was silent. The image of his cold expression from the prior night appeared in her mind. He seemed so upset with her, but now it felt like he was a completely different person.

Hawks didn't wait for her reply as he beat his red wings swiftly against the winds and soared high into the sky. He held her close to his chest, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, clutching the thick fabric of his coat. The hero weaved between the buildings and went deeper into the heart of the city. The commotion from cars and citizens was a distant buzz below, the roads and sidewalks completely congested despite the early hours of dawn. Hawks came to a stop, hovering above the tiny alley beside Wolf's Den and he descended to a graceful landing. Then he placed her down at the employee entrance.

Birdie shuffled closer to the door, a worried gleam in her emerald eyes. "You—You knew where I worked...?"

Hawks was silent for a moment, staring at her blankly. Then the empty expression above the collar of his jacket flipped to a cheery one. "I'm observant," he chirped, closing his eyes gleefully. "I've seen you working here before while on patrol. The cute little birdy that has a knack for causing trouble. Or so I have heard," and he pointed to his wings.

Birdie was silent. Hawks had proven to her that he had sharp eyes, but hearing through his feathers didn't make sense. She glared at him, mentally combing her mind. Then a tiny bulb of light dinged above her head, making her eyes grow wide.

She remembered reading an article about the hero once. Hawks' feathers could _feel_ vibrations, which included a person's voice. If he was on patrol using his feathers, he would have definitely heard the patrons scolding her. Though, she was positive none of them called her _cute_, and that little side comment made her blush.

Hawks chuckled at her expression and reached out to ruffle her ivory curls. "Try not to cause trouble when I'm away, okay?"

"Trust me..." Birdie fiddled with the leather strap of her purse. "I honestly don't want anymore trouble. I just want to work, eat and then sleep. If I did that for the rest of my life, I would be happy. I'm in no way a thrill seeker. I've had enough to last me a lifetime."

Hawks placed the tip of his finger to her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "We'll see about that," he mused.

His words made a chill run down her spine, and a patch of goosebumps blossomed on her skin. She wasn't sure how to handle his words.

Hawks looked pleased with her reaction. He chuckled again and then took a step back. His red wings spread out wide and he was ready to take flight, but before he left, he said: "I'll see you soon, Birdie."

Then he was gone in the blink of an eye, flying high into the sky.

Birdie didn't know if he was teasing or being serious. She wasn't sure about that _dreamy_ part Nurse Sheep mentioned, but she was right about Hawks being a charmer. He acted as if he could say anything and get away with it. The thought left a bad feeling in her stomach, but she couldn't forget that Hawks was a _hero_. He was the No. 2 Hero: a _trusted_ hero. He was just joking; she convinced herself. That was enough to put her mind at ease, allowing her to move on.

Birdie hurried through the thick metal door and entered the backroom. She got ready for work and then headed to the restaurant's main floor, but she didn't get far when she was greeted by a very upset Fox.

Fox shuffled through the doorway leading from the kitchen. His head was hanging low, almost touching his collarbone as he mumbled to himself. Then his red ears twitched when he heard her gentle footsteps and he looked up. His fuzzy ears perked up as his morbid expression light up with relief.

"B—_Birdie!_" His brown eyes went wide and he dashed to her. He hugged her, embracing her in his warmth. "I am so, so, _so_ sorry! I should have never left you alone last night! I couldn't get to you once the police showed up, a—and I had no idea if you were okay!"

Fox held her so close. His fingers dug into the fabric of her blouse and weaved through her ivory curls. Birdie had been so overwhelmed with the events from last night that she completely forgot about Fox.

She returned his hug and smiled lightly. "It's okay. You know, it was totally cliché that it would happen..." she trailed off with a weak laugh.

Fox pulled away, his hands squeezing her shoulders in an ironclad grip. He glared at her angrily. "_Don't joke about this!_"

Birdie flinched, shocked that Fox raised his voice; he never got mad like that before. "I'm—I'm just trying to lighten the mood," she fidgeted nervously. "I don't really want to dwell. I don't need to, I mean, I'm okay," and she held out her arms with a tiny smile on her lips. "See?"

Fox was silent, staring at her neck.

"Ah..._hahaha_..." Birdie sheepishly covered the bandage, and a bead of sweat trickled down her cheek. "...T—T'is just a flesh wound."

"_Birdie_." Fox was not amused.

Birdie sighed and shrugged his hands off her shoulders. "Fox," and then she reached up to place her hands on his shoulders. "Really, I'm okay. It's not your fault."

Fox averted his gaze, a guilty look in his brown eyes.

Birdie frowned, watching the misery visibly torment him. Fox was pale, but his brow turned a dark shade of purple. Sweat was dripping down his skin and his breath was shallow. He looked sick. He looked deathly ill.

Birdie felt her heart twist in pain and, hesitantly, she reached up to cradle his cheeks.

Fox stared at her, the guilt vanishing as shocked snapped into his expression. Shakily, he placed his hands over hers. Color slowly returned to his features, and he smiled a sad smile.

Then the quiet moment broke when heavy footsteps stormed into the backroom. The sound made the pair jump apart from their close quarters, both blushing slightly.

Manager Wolfe huffed, his sharp eyes glaring at the two servers. "Why aren't you two ready yet—_Birdie?_" Manager Wolfe's eyes suddenly went wide. "What happened to your neck?"

Birdie fidgeted restlessly and covered the bandage with her hands. "It—It's nothing, sir."

Manager Wolfe was silent for a moment as he mechanically turned his glare away from her. "_Fox," _he growled dangerously, a vicious aura radiating from his large form.

Fox froze; he turned to stone in the presence of the manager. Fox's tan skin turned white and his brown eyes went wide with a primal fear.

"W—_Wait!_" Birdie leapt between them, shielding Fox from the manager's dark shadow. "It's not his fault! It's not his fault!"

The cold expression on Manager Wolfe's features flat-lined. It was blank for a split second and then with a huff, it hardened into a serious look. "_Hmph,_" he grunted, adjusting the emerald tie around his neck. "He needs to show more..._responsibility_. I expect better from my No. 1."

Fox winced under the weight of the stressed word, like a hammer was dropped on his head. He hung his head low and his red ears drooped against his curly brown hair.

Manager Wolfe huffed again, but said nothing else. He simply pivoted on his heel and exited through the doorway to the kitchen.

Birdie turned around and frowned at the dreary expression on Fox's face. "I'm sorry I got you in trouble..." she murmured softly and she grabbed his hand.

Fox took a deep breath in and then out. His red ears perked up and his tail swung back and forth slowly. "I'm the only one to blame, Birdie," he replied. "I promise next time everything will be okay. I won't leave your side."

"Not even for five minutes?" Birdie gently teased.

Fox chuckled weakly, half a smile on his lips. "Not even for a second."

Birdie smiled and she held his hand tightly. "Thank you."

"_Ahem_," Fox cleared his throat. A pink blush blossomed on his cheeks. Then he let go of her hand, tucking it behind his back. "We should get to work before Manager Wolfe really does get mad at the both of us."

"Yeah," Birdie nodded, sheepishly scratching her cheek.

"Ladies first," Fox replied and he stepped aside with a bow. "Let's hope today will be a better day."

And surprisingly it was.

Birdie had broken her other records for most _correct _orders taken and drinks served _properly_. She even got bigger tips because patrons thought she was injured. She had been honest that it was only a scratch, but if they wanted to give her more, she wouldn't complain. Especially when she felt she earned it for a job well done; even Manager Wolfe praised her at the end of the day. When she left work, she was in high spirits. She felt comfortable walking alone _and_ on her normal route to the station. The colorful neon lights guided her path as she followed the flow of night dwellers.

She hummed cheerfully as she waited at the corner to cross the street. A small cluster of young men and women stood with her.

The group was eager to move, and they sprinted across the crosswalk to the other side. A yellow taxi skid to a halt, honking its horn at one of the men in the middle of the road that was lagging behind the group.

The scene made Birdie pause, and a foreboding sensation sank into the pits of her stomach. She waited patiently for the small crossing signal on the other side of the street to light up before she moved. The road was clear; all cars had stopped for her.

Then there was a loud blast that echoed down the street, and it was followed by the cries of panic.

"**RUN AWAY TRUCK!**"

Birdie froze, stuck in the headlights. She was transfixed on the white lights, her emerald eyes growing wider as the brightness engulfed her petite frame.

Then the light was gone.

Wind rushed through her ivory curls and she was enveloped in darkness. She was paralyzed by the sensation of sinking into a black void, but then she saw a single color.

_Red._

_A beautiful bright red._

Tiny feathers fluttered around her and she grasped onto her situation. Once again, she was cradled delicately in Hawks' arms, hovering high in the sky.

Hawks was staring down at the ground, an amused twinkle in his amber eyes.

When Birdie looked at the scene below, her cheeks turned hot pink and she felt her jaw go slack at the sight.

The street was covered in a layer of brightly colored dildos. The intersection was engulfed in vivid neon and sparkling glitter, and there was an unsettling hum coming from the rubber sea. In the middle of the mayhem was a lopsided truck, the side exposing the logo that read: **GIANT DILDO**.

"I can see the headlines now: _Girl Almost Fucked by Giant Dildo_."

Birdie's entire face burned bright red when Hawks started to laugh wildly.

"P—_Please don't tease me!_"

"Sorry, sorry," Hawks tried to control his outburst of laughter, his musing dying down to light chuckles. "I couldn't resist, but at least your safe. That's all that matters."

Birdie hung her head to hide her embarrassed blush. "...T—Th-Thank you..."

"It was no trouble at all, y'know?" Hawks replied. "So, need another lift?"

Birdie shook her head.

"Well, there's not much landing space on a ground swamped with dildos...unless you actually _want_ to wade through all that?"

Birdie shook her head again, but the action more vigorous than the first time.

"Good," Hawks hummed and then darted from the scene, flying swiftly through the night sky.

Birdie started to fidget in his grasp. The unsettling moment when he took her to work that morning resurfaced.

Then Hawks suddenly stopped moving, and he looked down at her to ask: "Where to next?"

Birdie looked around and saw the familiar bridge she tumbled over at dawn. It was void of all life safe for a little stray dog digging through a tipped over trash can. Hesitantly, though slightly relieved, Birdie pointed in the direction of where he needed to go.

Hawks nodded and continued on while Birdie scanned the ground, looking for familiar landmarks in the dark. She wasn't used to the method of _flying_ as transportation.

When she saw the bright mustard yellow shingles of Old Man Weasel's home, she tugged on Hawks' collar. "This corner is fine. I can walk from here."

"..."

"I—It's only five minutes!" She protested when she saw the annoyed gleam cross his eyes. "I can handle that much myself!"

Hawks stared at her blankly, the empty expression boring a hole into her soul. "What happened the last time you were alone for five minutes?"

Birdie pursed her lips and fidgeted uncomfortably in his arms.

"Tell me which way," Hawks was blunt.

Birdie pointed.

"_Say it._"

Birdie flinched at the harshness in his tone. "It's down that alley..." she pointed again. "The little complex right behind the T-Rex T-Mart."

Hawks stiffly nodded and dove between the buildings, weaving with grace around the telephone poles and over the web of wires. Then he landed on the ground outside the apartment complex she called home.

The three-story building was narrow and crooked like the little district she lived in. The bricks were painted a homely shade of musty pink and the shingles were colorful like the rainbow. Locals called the apartment building the Pink Palace because of the paint job. Outside the Pink Palace was a collection of potted plants; there was a wide assortment of flowers that were carefully arranged in spots that would have the most sun during the day. Though, the building was nestled so close to the massive department store that some rooms didn't even see the light of day anymore.

Birdie always felt proud to live in the Pink Palace, but she learned to keep those feelings to herself. Others had told her that sense of pride was wrong. They looked at her in disgust; told her she should feel ashamed to live in such a place.

"..."

Hawks' silence was horrifying. He just stared up at the building. The glare across his blue visor blocked the expression his eyes held.

Birdie grabbed her wing and started to pluck loose feathers.

"Cute."

Birdie paused.

Hawks turned to her, the bright glare shimmering off his visor to reveal a charming look on his face. "It suits you well."

Birdie was dumbstruck, and she found herself blurting out her thoughts. "You're the first person to ever say that."

"That's a crying shame." Hawks smirked. "I've heard that people call this district Pollock's Canvas. It's wild, full of color, and whimsical nonsense. So, a crooked pink house in such a place is..." he paused, pursing his lips in thought. "..._poetic_. Like a diamond in the rough."

Birdie turned away, her cheeks turning a cherry pink, and she raked her fingers through her feathers faster. "T—T-Thank you..that's a v-v-very nice thing to say."

Hawks suddenly stood on the other side of her. His red wings fluttered as he leaned forward with his hands behind his back. His face was inches from hers, and there was a grin on his lips. "You are very welcome."

"**Birdie!**"

Birdie yelped and jumped away from Hawks, and he frowned in response. All her focus was on the open doorway of the pink building. Her landlord stood on the cracked stoop, glaring at her angrily. The muscular man was still clad in his oily work overalls as he stormed over to her; his footsteps hit the ground hard enough to make the earth shake. The moonlight reflected off his polished ivory horns, and hot steam poured from his pierced nostrils.

"Where've ya been girl!?" He shouted, looming over her.

"I—I'm sorry, Mister Ox!" Birdie gasped, her hazy pink cheeks draining of all color and beads of sweat formed on her brow. "I—I-I-I forgot!" She bowed once and then twice to her landlord, completely flustered. "I'm sorry! I said I would call you when I was on my way home, but...but..."

"_Another_ accident?" Mister Ox snorted, scowling at Hawks and then the landlord eyed Birdie coldly. "First a night at the hospital without a single peep, then the police take ya home n' now a _hero?_ What've ya been up to!? For fuck's sake, girl!"

Birdie whined and grabbed her wing, pulling out tiny white feathers.

Mister Ox crossed his arms and tapped his foot to the ground. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath in and then out. "This is giving me n' the missus a heart attack..." he sighed, running his large hand through his shaggy black hair. "Lord, what would your parents say? They'd be rolling in their graves with all this trouble you're causing—"

"It's not her fault," Hawks cut in sharply, his words like steel. He made a show of stepping between Birdie and the landlord, using himself as a shield. "She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's okay though; she's _safe_."

Mister Ox scowled at Hawks, an irritated spark in his crimson eyes when the landlord heard the hero's tone. "..._Tch_." Mister Ox snorted and he placed his hands on his hips. "Wait 'till ya have kids, boy. It'll make sense then."

Hawks was silent for a moment. "I see," was all he said.

Mister Ox rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Birdie," the landlord waved her over. "I'll walk ya to your room."

Birdie listened obediently. She walked around Hawks to Mister Ox's side, and she could feel the hero's stare burning a hole in the back of her head.

Mister Ox placed a hand to her back, ushering her inside the pink building. Before the landlord closed the door, he turned to Hawks. "Thanks for the help," he bowed. "N' sorry if she caused any trouble."

Birdie jumped when she saw the formal apology, and she quickly mimicked Mister Ox. She bowed and said: "Thank you, and sorry..."

Hawks cocked his head to the side, baffled. "It was nothing," he replied, but then he looked at the dove, a coy smile on his lips. "Knowing you're safe is all that matters. See you later, Birdie." Then with two beats of his red wings, Hawks was high in the sky, vanishing into the night.

Birdie stared up at the darkness until Mister Ox slowly closed the door.

The landlord sighed, placing a hand to his head in frustration. "Not sure I approve of ya seeing him if the meeting's through _accidents_."

Birdie pursed her lips. "To be honest," and she clutched the leather strap of her purse. "If I _never_ laid eyes on Hawks again, I wouldn't cry about it. 'Cause then..." she trailed off with a bittersweet smile. "Then maybe my life might be normal again."

Mister Ox sighed again. "I'm just glad ya came back safe. Ever since that accident with Cardinal's head being found in the canal..." he trailed off with a grim frown.

"That was three years ago..." Birdie mumbled. "Thankfully nothing like that has ever happened again…"

"Police never got the villain," Mister Ox's shoulders tensed up. "It's why I get so irritated when you're late walking home from work alone. The district has had its bad share of accidents that reached national news. The Headless Horseman Killer that took Cardinal's life and the Black Pillar Incident that destroy the temple twelve years ago… But…" he let out a long sigh. "Can't get too upset when ya come home in the safe hands of the police n' a hero. Only wish it wasn't 'cause ya were involved in something dangerous…"

Birdie smiled weakly. "Sorry… I try my best, but I don't seem to have control of anything right now. It's honestly a little unnerving."

"We're here for ya whenever." Mister Ox huffed, but then he smiled and reached out to playfully ruffle her ivory curls. "I don't know what the missus n' I'd do without ya."

The bitterness in her smile melted away at the kind words. Birdie's tiny white wings fluttered happily against her shoulders as she walked alongside Mister Ox to her room that was on the third floor.

The Pink Palace interior was just as pink as the outside. The wallpaper was a floral print of white and red roses on a pink background. Even the heavy wooden doors of each room were painted a rosy shade of pink. Potted plants lined the walls of the hallways and staircase, each flower vivid with bright colors and groomed with care.

"Missus Ox has been hard at work," Birdie spoke up as she marveled at the greenery blooming inside. "This place will look like a jungle soon!"

"It's _that_ time of year, y'know?" Mister Ox snorted. "She needs garden space since the T-Mart bought up the empty lot, but the old girl knows how to make it work...even though this place looks like a damn French Tea Party."

"I feel like it makes it homey," Birdie smiled brightly. "It works well with the pink."

"Yeah, yeah," Mister Ox scratched the back of his head, grunting in annoyance. "We get tenants. That's all I care about."

Birdie giggled in response, which earned her a stern look from the landlord when they stopped at the door to her apartment. The door to her room was the only one on the floor that had a flower wreath nailed to the front. It was woven with reed grass and English Marigolds, and in the center of the wreath was a little golden plate that read _36._

"Ah, also," Mister Ox spoke up before Birdie opened the door. "Before I forget, the washing machine's down. You'll need to use the laundromat down the street. If you're going tonight tell me _now_. Old Man Weasel's on shift, so I'll call him n' ask that he'll keep an eye on ya. We ain't having anymore accidents, y'hear?"

Birdie felt a bead of sweat on her brow, but she nodded. "I planned on doing laundry when I got home. So, I'll head over in a few minutes."

"Then I'll call him up," Mister Ox replied. "Hurry on up. I don't want ya out too late, seriously."

Birdie nodded again and she did as she was told. She unlocked the pink door and headed inside her tiny room, quickly gathering her laundry basket from the bathroom. It was a small wicker chest that had a lid and two leather handles on the sides. It was a decent size and easily fit the small amount of clothing she owned. It also wasn't too heavy to carry down the street to Old Man Weasel's laundromat.

The neon lights above the short building hummed in the dead of night, and the words _Suddies_ flickered periodically. The large windows of the laundromat bathed the narrow street in bright white light, illuminating the darkness. Birdie could see the stacked rows of colorful washers and dryers along the interior's side walls, and a muffled melody of classical music filtered through the glass panes. The tiny copper bell above the door rung as she opened it, announcing her entrance to the few patrons inside.

Señorita Hen proceeded to fold her fancy multi-colored blouses at one of the metal tables in the center of the room. The curvy woman sang a soft tune in her native tongue. She swayed side to side to her own beat, her large brown tail feathers following the motion. Jackal continued to toss his greasy denim overalls into one of the many washers. The lanky man grumbled angrily, and his shaggy brown tail swished back and forth quickly.

The only one that greeted her was Old Man Weasel, who was at his desk in the far corner of the room. He didn't say anything to her, but he did nod at her shortly before returning to his large book.

Old Man Weasel was a stubby old man with a little fuzzy tail and short round ears at the top of his head. He always wore an oversized mustard yellow sweater, no matter the season, and large thick framed glasses. He also had a knack for collecting shiny things off the streets. The washers and dryers of his laundromat were covered in a layer of his art. Glass shards, mirror fragments and polished bottle caps were arranged like puzzle pieces on the industrial white steel. On sunny days, the laundromat looked like a disco ball.

Birdie went to her usual washer in the corner near the wooden benches along the back wall. She popped a few coins into the washer, the change jingling down the machine and was followed by a tiny metallic _tap_. Then she dumped her clothes in.

"Aren't you going to sort, chica?" Señorita Hen curiously asked, her tone heavily laced with her accent. The plump woman frowned and stopped folding her blouses. Her tail feathers bristled in discomfort as she witnessed Birdie's washing habit. "The colors of your beautiful _vestidos_ will bleed and fade if you don't sort. You don't want that, not when they are all so pretty."

"Why bother?" Jackal scoffed, rolling his black beady eyes. "It's a waste of money _and_ time to do multiple loads when it gets clean all the same way in one."

"Exactly," Birdie chirped in agreement as she poured in the last drop of detergent and closed the washer door. With a quick flip of the switch, she started the machine. It beeped a spotted rhythm and then rumbled, preparing the soapy water.

Señorita Hen sighed in disappointment, her tail feathers swishing back and forth as she shook her head. "Oh chica, what are we to do with you? You're at that age where you should be getting _married_. You can't impress any fine _hidalgo_ with _vestidos_ like that."

"I think she looks just _fiiiiine_." Jackal countered with a flirtatious smirk, his shaggy tail waving in excitement as he sent Birdie a playful wink. "Boys in the district would line up for miles to be with Birdie if it weren't for Mister Ox being the stubborn bull he is."

"There aren't very many good..._opción_ left in the district," Señorita Hen sent Jackal a cold look, eyeing his oily appearance in disgust. She quickly looked away with a huff and went back to folding her blouses. Her tail feathers bristled in frustration as she continued. "All the _bueno_ _hombres_ have been taken," Then she looked to Birdie with a sorrowful frown. "You'd have to look elsewhere in the city at this point, chica."

Jackal's cheerful expression wavered. "_Hey! _What's that supposed to mean?" He snarled, scowling at Señorita Hen.

Señorita Hen continued to smooth out the wrinkles in her pink blouse as she bluntly retorted: "You know exactly what it means, _tonto_."

Birdie felt a bead of sweat on her brow. She remained silent and removed herself from the conversation that suddenly flipped into an argument between Señorita Hen and Jackal.

The dove took a seat on the long bench at the back of the laundromat. The old wood creaked as she got comfortable and she rooted through her purse, pulling out a small book and pen. The book's cover was a worn green leather, and it's faded title was in cracked gold leaf read: _Field Guide to Quirk Medics_. The old journal was about first-aid and how to handle injuries for people with certain types of quirks.

Birdie delicately turned the wrinkled pages, examining the many guides written on the brown paper. It was a document with many technical terms and studies that were hard to follow, but the dove was up to the challenge. She would underline certain words she needed to look up, and circled passages that needed more research. The first two chapters were already filled with her notes, and she started scribbling on the third. It was about how to handle patients with aquatic Quirks, and she readily took notes as she read.

Then her pen stopped when she suddenly couldn't see the pages anymore.

"Hey! What gives, Weasel?"

"_Tonto!_ Don't be rude to Señor Weasel!"

The entire laundromat was engulfed in darkness, and the hum of the machinery was dead silent. The only sound that remained was the classical music drifting from the radio on the shelf behind Old Man Weasel. The laundromat owner dug through the drawers of his desk and pulled out a tiny flashlight. A spark of light brightened the room, and Old Man Weasel hopped down from his seat. He shuffled across the tiled floor to the laundromat's backroom and disappeared. Then the room was left in an unsettling darkness again.

"God, this is so fucking creepy."

"It could be worse, _tonto_. Just be patient."

"Stop calling me _tonto_, you damned—!"

_Thump, thump, thump._

The odd sound coming from the roof silenced Jackal's curse.

The noises continued, the ceiling lights jittering as the vibrations intensified. The roof started to shake wildly and there was a terrible crack and shudder as the ceiling caved in, causing a cloud of hazardous smoke and debris to engulf the laundromat.

Birdie yelped, shielding her eyes from the dust, but it did not stop the horrible stench of scorched steel that invaded her nostrils and clogged her throat. She was swept away in the force and she tumbled off the bench onto the floor. She could hear a blend of terrified clucks and worried howls as the rubble crashed to the floor. The smoke cleared, and the streetlight from outside peered through the large hole in the ceiling. It was a spotlight for the three men that jumped down from the hole one by one.

Each man wore a pair of bright red and yellow polka dotted overalls, and large rubber shoes that resembled ducks and _quacked_ every time the men moved. They wore bright red afros with fake curly hair that smelled like a horrid blend of cotton candy and sulfur. Over their faces were clown masks; the latex rubber painted with a sterile, cheery expression that hid their identities. The three men looked ridiculous, but they were armed with dangerous yellow polka dotted assault rifles.

"Alright!" _**Bangbangbang.**_ "Everyone!" _**Bangbangbang.**_

The first man shouted loudly as he hazardously shot two quick rounds of his ammo into the remainder of the ceiling. Bits of drywall dropped to the floor, shattering into pieces. Then he paced back and forth, his shoes quacking with every step he took.

"Just sit your butts on the ground n' don't move! This ain't some stupid robbery of this puny little store. We don't want your fuckin' coins or petty bills. Don't worry. _Relaaaaax._ You'll be safe soon!"

"Yeh, yeh," the second man cackled wildly, rubbing his gloved hands together quickly. "We _want_ the heroes to come 'ere, _hehehehehe_."

The first man stopped pacing, making the quack of his shoes halt. He rested his rifle against his shoulder and turned his attention to the third man. "You got the Cherry?"

The third man silently produced a box from the large back pocket of his overalls. It was a white package that was tied with a glossy red ribbon, and it sat evenly on his forearms. He gingerly placed it in the center of the room and then pulled the ribbon. The box unfolded to reveal a cream pie with a bright red cherry on top.

"Think it's been long enough?" The first man asked the third.

The third man pulled a large pocket watch from the front pocket of his overalls. He stared at it for a moment then nodded.

"Cherry time~!" The second man snickered cheerfully as he clapped his hands over his head.

"See yah!" The first man bid his farewell with a mock bow.

Then all three men leapt through the hole in the ceiling, their shoes quacking all the way.

Birdie, Señorita Hen and Jackal were left in a horrified state of bewilderment. All three of them stared at the cream pie perched on the pile of rubble in the middle of the ruins. The fluffy cream was illuminated by the streetlight above. The red cherry was glossy and started to glow brighter. Then it started to beep.

Jackal's eyes went wide with fear when he heard the tiny noise. "R—_RUN!_" He barked, making a break for the door.

The beeps of the red cherry intensified and the glow flickered wildly.

Señorita Hen anxiously clucked as she hiked up her red skirt and scrambled to the exit.

Birdie hesitated and she looked to the backroom's door, her white wings shuddering. "W—What about—!?"

"_It's gonna—!_"

But it was too late.

The pie burst. The cream and cherry disintegrated within the whirlwind of hellfire.

The force knocked out the windows, the glass shattering into pieces. The flames latched onto the rubble, cackling wildly like a beast constricting the remains of its prey. The world turned into a pot of water, and Birdie began to boil. Her voice was raw. She was pinned by the heat and didn't have the strength to move. Her skin prickled and blistered, cracking at the seams. She was being torn apart by the fiery devil's scorching claws. Then the heat was gone from her skin. A cool rush of wind made her hiss as a spiral of bright red swirled around her.

_Red._

It was that _damned_ red again.

The red feathers dug into the singed fabric of her dress and hoisted her into the air. She was soaring higher and higher into the sky, and she saw the scene below. The laundromat was in flames, the bricks and wood curling into hot cinders. A colorful parade of sirens decorated the narrow streets. A dozen police cars blocked off the roads, keeping curious citizens at bay. Fire trucks were posted on the frontlines as fireman fought the wicked blaze with water pressure. And ambulances were in the rear, medics attending to the rescued victims. Her ash covered neighbors were surrounded by red feathers that quickly dispersed and floated back into the sky.

The feathers supporting her weight disappeared, and strong arms replaced them, cradling her protectively.

"I was only gone an hour, y'know?" Hawks teased.

Birdie was silent. Her emerald eyes wide and transfixed on the mesmerizing flicker of the flames.

"...Too soon?" Hawks murmured apologetically. "I was trying to lighten the mood..."

Birdie didn't respond. Her breath was uneven and shallow; she was in a trance.

Hawks remained silent, watching her descent into panic. He quickly landed and then carefully placed her back on the ground.

Birdie faced the fire, a hollow look in her emerald eyes. Her ivory curls were messy and dusty, her pale skin was bruised with light pink marks and her orange dress was stained black. "It's gone..." she whispered quietly. "My clothes. My purse. M—My money. Everything. All of my stuff. Everything's all gone..."

"Hey now," Hawks frowned and he stood beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "That's not important. Your _life_ is what matters most. Material stuff like that can easily be replaced."

Birdie snapped back to reality, the emptiness in her emerald eyes disappearing. Then she hung her head low. "Of course."

Hawks sighed and smiled lightly. "That's right. You're safe now—"

"Of course _you_ wouldn't understand," Birdie jerked away from him and then she scowled angrily. "Someone that can _easily_ replace things. _Of course_ you would say something like that so carelessly."

Hawks' eyes opened wide in shock.

"I _can't_ do that," Birdie snapped. A red-hot hatred burned in her belly as she jabbed a finger to the burning laundromat. "Especially not when everything is burning up in that fire right there!"

"That isn't true," Hawks countered calmly and he took a small step closer to her. "You're life is the most precious thing you own—"

"What's the point of living if you have nothing!?" Birdie screamed, her little white wings flapping wildly with her rage. "I can't replace anything if I have no money! I have nothing! _Nothing!_"

"You _have_ to have something." Hawks protested. He waited for her response, but the drawn out silence made him shift uncomfortably. "...Right?"

Birdie let out a ragged breath, and her tiny wings drooped against her shoulders. "...I don't know anymore."

"B—Birdie...?"

Birdie ignored him. She was trembling, her petite frame shivering like a leaf, and she felt the cold streaks of tears roll down her cheeks. She hiccuped, trying to wipe them away roughly with the heel of her hands, but the salty droplets continued to fall. She tasted the bitterness and it hurt. There was a shallow pit in her stomach; the miserable taste made her want to vomit. The tears were a waterfall and she sobbed into her hands. She couldn't control it anymore. It was happening all over again; a fire stole everything from her for a second time.

Hawks reached out and nudged her elbow with his fingertips, drawing her attention. He held out his hand to her, but Birdie did not accept.

Hawks' outstretched hand limply fell to his side. His red wings shuddered and he fidgeted on his feet. He took a tiny step closer to her.

"_**BIIIIRRRDDDIIEEE!**_"

Hawks shuffled back.

Birdie weakly raised her head from her hands and saw the familiar figure calling her name.

Missus Ox was running to her, a river of salty tears pouring from her red eyes. The short and round woman was still in her pink nightgown and fuzzy slippers. And the pink curlers in her ginger hair were falling out, the messy strands knotting around her ivory horns.

"_Birdie! Birdie! Birdie! __**BIIRRRDDIEEE!**_" Missus Ox wailed as she embraced Birdie in a bone crushing hug. The landlord's wife smothered the dove to her large bosom, and she continued to sob uncontrollably.

Right behind his wife, Mister Ox joined the hug and held both women close to his broad chest. "Damnit, Birdie! Don't scare us like that!"

In the warm embrace of the couple, Birdie was able to stop her tears, but her emotions tipped over into the edge of emptiness. "I lost it all," she whispered blankly. "I lost it all again."

Mister Ox pulled away, frowning deeply. "Birdie..." he placed a hand on her head and he looked directly into the hollowness her emerald eyes held. "It'll be alright. You'll have _something_ in your room. We'll look when we get back."

Birdie ignored his comfort. "It's gone..."

Her vision was blurry from the tears, but her senses focused on the blinding red of Hawks' wings.

Hawks was silent, his head turned away. He stared off into the distance, his attention snared by the fire's bright light. His amber eyes were wide and unfocused. He was pale, a sickly pale; sweat was dripping down his brow and he started to tremble.

"_Hawks._"

Hawks snapped out of his daze when his name was called. Color returned to his skin and his eyes flickered with life. Then he turned to the familiar policeman approaching him.

There was a serious expression on Officer Labrador's canine features. "Detective Shepherd needs to have a word with you. _Again._"

"..."

The officer ignored the hero's silence. "He's not pleased with the..._force_ you used on the Clown Brigade."

"...I had to stop them quickly." Hawks was blunt. "I know what methods they use for their robberies."

"Save your excuses for Detective Shepherd," Officer Labrador snapped. "You're lucky you stopped the robbery _and_ saved the civilians from the little pie distraction with your actions. But that _doesn't_ mean we approve of them."

Hawks looked over his shoulder, a dead expression in his amber eyes when he saw her. "...Right," was all he said before slowly stalking into the sea of police officers.


	3. Episode 1: Hunger, Chapter III

**Birds of a Feather**

**Episode 1: Hunger**

**Chapter**** III: August 4th**

The glass panes of the window rattled as a strong breeze passed by, and the glow from the streetlight outside trickled through the blinds. The tiny room was illuminated in a pale blue light that highlighted the emptiness. The walls were barren, the only notable fixtures were the pink doors for the entrance, the bathroom and the closet. The tiny kitchen only had two things on it's small counter: a large cardboard box labeled _chicken ramen_ and a black teakettle. On the floor there was an old futon laid out under the window, and a table in the center of the room that had a single worn cushion as a seat.

Birdie sat at the small table with a shabby cardboard box beside her. Her ivory curls were still damp from her shower, and she wore one of Missus Ox's old green nightgowns. It was far too big, but the dove didn't mind. It was warm and smelled like lavender; it left a comforting sensation that pierced her skin and touched her bones.

Birdie subconsciously fiddled with her white feathers as she stared at the pitiful pile of wrinkled bills and loose change she found in the cardboard box. It was a grand total of ¥2,093, and it was all she had to her name until her next payday.

_It's practically nothing, but it is still something_, Birdie sighed. _At least payday is next week, so I shouldn't be too stressed yet. I have plenty of food and rent's not due until next month._

Then a weak smile came to her lips. Her hands fell into her lap, and her white wings drooped against her shoulders. She felt a wave of relief glide across her body. Her muscles relaxed and her mind was clear. She was able to calm down quite a bit since the fire that happened only a few hours ago.

_Mister Ox was right_, she thought, _this isn't like before. I was just triggered by bad memories and exploded. I can recover from this little hiccup. It's but a tiny bump, and not a mountain. I just need to focus and plan!_

Determination crossed her features as she clenched her fists tightly, and her little white wings fluttered with encouragement.

Birdie turned to the shabby cardboard box next to her and rummaged through the contents. Inside there were two scorched photo albums, a black velvet ring box, a small golden plaque that read _Banker Turtle_ and a large notebook with a pencil stuck in the spiral. She pulled out the notebook and laid it on the table, pushing aside the small amount of money. The bright red notebook was large and had the word _graphing_ in bold black letters across the cover. She plucked the pencil from the metal spiral and then flipped through the pages. The graph paper was filled with hand drawn spreadsheets; a record of all her spending over the past few years.

Birdie reviewed the last chart she created, scanning the organized rows and columns.

_Alright_, she nodded to herself, _I think I can work with this_. Then she grabbed her pencil and turned to the next page. It was clean and ready to be drawn on, and the dove was itching to write.

She carefully followed the printed light blue lines across both pages. When her rows and columns were set and labelled, she began filling in the blanks.

_So, I make ¥80,000 monthly, _and she wrote the amount at the top of the page. _I get paid ¥20,000 every Saturday._ _Should I include tips? I've earned an extra ¥2,400 in the past two weeks as a server..._

However, she didn't know how long she would be a server. Birdie had taken Pidgey's place since he left, and surely Manager Wolfe was in the process of hiring a third person.

Birdie pursed her lips in thought. _No, I shouldn't add tips._

She didn't want to take the risk.

_Alright, _she continued writing. _¥60,000 of my paycheck goes straight to rent, which is due at the beginning of the month._

Birdie never missed a month a rent, and she was damn proud of that considering her circumstances. Mister and Missus Ox both said it was alright if she missed a month or two, but Birdie knew the Ox couple was struggling just as much as she was with with bills; she would not be a burden to them.

_I paid for August already, but I need to worry about next month. _Birdie paused to think, tapping the pencil's eraser against the page. _I lost almost two weeks worth of money because of the fire, which means I'll have to be a little late with rent next month. Late is better than missing, at least._

Birdie jotted down her new weekly savings for rent. With a bit of math, she worked out a plan that would cover September's rent by the second week and still left her the usual ¥5,000 extra a week.

_Thanks to the extra ¥2,400 from tips, I was able to buy that bulk box of ramen_. Birdie looked at the large cardboard box on the counter with a smile. _It was on sale and will totally last me two months. That means I can use the extra money to replace things I lost in the fire._

Birdie started to make a list of all the things she needed to replace. It was a small list: a new purse, two new towels, a new hamper, new clothes and a new phone. Then she took a moment to review her tiny list and saw there was a large problem.

_How am I going to budget a phone and clothes?_

She lost her entire wardrobe and even cheap phones weren't cheap. A phone and clothes would equally take up all the extra money she had and they were priority items. High priority; as in she needed them by _morning_ high priority. She couldn't borrow anymore clothes from Missus Ox. While comfortable, they were inappropriately too big. Birdie needed a cell phone for basic communication, especially when it came to work.

_I have to try and see what I can do_, Birdie bit her lip and she went into budget mode. _I could probably hold off on the phone for the time being. I have Missus Ox listed under an emergency contact if anything important comes up. And I'm sure I can use her phone if I needed to tell Manager Wolfe something. So, I'll just put aside maybe 500 to 1,000 a week? It would leave the rest to clothes, but wouldn't that take too long to get a phone?_

She crunched the numbers mercilessly. She had to erase and rewrite her calculations so many times that the paper threatened to rip under the pressure. Frustration and stress slowly started to creep into her bones; it was a growing chill that made her muscles tense. The tiny bump she wanted to cross suddenly turned into a mountain she had to climb. She forced her way up the steep slope, but she couldn't take it anymore.

She slammed her pencil down on the table, and then she held her head in her hands. She sat there in silence, the pale blue glow of the street light outside her window disappeared and was replaced by a vivid orange hue. Her frizzy ivory curls absorbed the titian hue, and the heat radiated through her skin, but it did not warm her bones.

Slowly, she raised her head and looked down at the graph paper covered in a thin layer of eraser shavings. She could budget all she wanted, but any plans she created didn't avoid the fact that she needed money now. She had no safety net and she was falling fast; the uncertainty of her destination left a dreadful feeling sink into her stomach.

"_Birdie!_"

But fate had already caught her.

The door burst open and Missus Ox marched into her tiny apartment with her husband in tow. The florist and landlord were covered in a thin layer of dust and plumes of smoke followed in the wake of their heels. Despite her disheveled appearance, Missus Ox was beaming with joy as she dramatically motioned to the large cardboard box Mister Ox carried in his arms.

"_Birdie! Birdie! Birrrrrrdie~!_" Missus Ox sang out boisterously as she wiggled her fingers with enthusiasm. "Lookie what we got here for ya~!"

On cue, Mister Ox gently placed the large box on the floor beside his wife.

Missus Ox tore through the brown package tape and opened the box, a tiny puff of dust escaping the cardboard prison. The florist coughed, waving aside the debris as she looked through the folded clothing hidden inside. With a proud smile, she pulled out a dress for the dove to see. "Whatcha think, baby? Ain't it pretty?"

It was a rockabilly ball dress. The style was an old one, like it was plucked from a vintage magazine. The halter dress had an outdated floral pattern of orange roses and green vines printed across the titanium fabric. And on the front, and right in the middle of the sweetheart neckline, was a large orange bow.

"Took me _forever_ to dig out this thing, but I got it!" Missus Ox smirked with a satisfied huff as she gingerly draped the dress over the cardboard box. "I knew I had a box of these rockabillies in the back. Only needed a little elbow grease to find it!"

"...That's 'cause you're a pack rat." Mister Ox grunted, rolling his red eyes in annoyance as he dusted off his dirty overalls.

Missus Ox crossed her arms over her chest and she glared at her husband. "You callin' that a _bad_ thing now, Blackie?" She inquired sharply, the florist impatiently tapping her foot to the floor.

Mister Ox was silent, but then he sighed and shook his head in response.

"That's what I thought," Missus Ox huffed. The irritated expression melted into something sweet as the florist looked back at Birdie, waving the dove over. "Don't be shy now, baby."

Birdie slowly stood up from the cushion and shuffled over to the box, curiously peering down at the collection of vintage dresses. The fabrics and prints were full of color and vibrant patterns of flowers. Aside from a layer of dust, the dresses were in good condition.

Birdie pursed her lips and she grabbed her wing, fiddling with her white feathers. "A—Are you _giving_ these to me?"

Missus Ox's smile brightened. "N' that's not all, baby!" Then the florist looked back at her husband.

Mister Ox nodded and stuck his hand into the pocket of his oil-stained overalls. Then he pulled out a tiny smartphone and held it out to the dove.

Birdie's wing slipped from her hands as she started in shock. Hesitantly, she took the phone from the landlord's hand. It barely fit in the palm of her hand, and the plexiglas screen was riddled with large cracks.

"It's seen better days," Mister Ox sighed, scratching the back of his head. "But it'll be a good substitute 'till you can save up for a new one."

"The dresses should be a fine fit for ya, too." Missus Ox added. "This halter style will be perfect for you n' your little wings. Plus, I'll never get into them again, n' I know you'll put them to good use. You always looked downright gorgeous in dresses! No matter the style!"

"We _know_ you've been budgeting all night, Birdie." Mister Ox was blunt. The landlord glared at her sternly and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Your eyes say it all."

Missus Ox scowled at her husband and elbowed him in the gut, making him grunt. The florist disregarded the dark look she received from her husband. "We just don't wanna see ya stressing yourself out, baby..." Missus Ox smiled softly. "So, we found some things to help tide ya over for a month or two. They ain't the best, but I hope it's enough to put your nerves at ease. This ain't like last time, Birdie. You _didn't_ lose everything."

Birdie was bewildered. Her emerald eyes were wide as she stared at the couple. Then her eyes became glossy and she quickly lowered her head. She bit her lip, but it didn't stop her from trembling as she clutched the phone close to her chest. She was at a loss of words, but she let her actions speak for her. She cried tears of relief.

"C'mon, Birdie..." A bead of sweat appeared on Mister Ox's brow. "Don't cry. It'll make—"

"Ooooooh, B—_Birdie!_" Missus Ox cut off her husband with a loud wail, which made the landlord flinch. The florist started to sniffle as large tears fell from her crimson eyes when she saw the dove start to cry. Then Missus Ox scrambled forward, embracing Birdie in her arms.

"Good Lord..." Mister Ox sighed, shaking his head at the sight. "Calm down, Red. Birdie already looks like a mess, don't encourage it. She still has work today, y'know?"

"Right, right." Missus Ox took a tiny step back. Then she cradled the dove's tear stained cheeks. "Wipe away them tears, baby. You gotta get ready for work. Blackie will drive ya, so take your time getting pretty."

When Missus Ox created more distance between them, Birdie did as she was told and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "But what about the shop?" She asked meekly. "Shouldn't you be at work already, Mister Ox?"

"Don't worry about it," Mister Ox shook his head. "Jackal's closed shop for the day. He said he ain't gonna work on cars when he's shaking like a leaf."

"So, Blackie will be your escort to n' from work." Missus Ox concluded as she clasped her hands together happily. "It's be awhile since he's driven ya to work!"

"Our schedules are different, y'know?" Mister Ox huffed. "I'd drop her off n' pick her up if I could..." then the landlord trailed off, frowning slightly. "...'Specially after all the bad luck she's fallen into."

Birdie grabbed her tiny wing and slowly plucked loose feathers. "I'm sorry..." she murmured, smiling weakly. "My karma is probably out of whack."

Mister Ox reached out and placed a hand on her head, patting her cranium roughly. "Just make sure you ain't getting into any trouble, y'hear?"

Birdie's smile lightened up and she nodded. "Yes, sir."

"_Heh,_" Mister Ox smirked and he playfully ruffled her ivory curls. "That's what I like ta hear." Mister Ox gave Birdie's head one more pat and then he turned on his heel, leaving the room.

Missus Ox stepped forward and gave Birdie another hug, squeezing her tightly. "We love ya, baby." Then the florist planted a small kiss on the dove's cheek before following her husband. Then the pink door to her apartment closed with a tiny _click_.

Birdie approached the cardboard box, picking up the vintage dress the florist pulled out. It was still dusty, and one solid shake caused a thin brown mist to drift onto the floor. All the dresses needed a good scrub, but the dove didn't have the time for that, nor the place. Birdie slipped into the dress, ignoring the brittle sensation on her skin. She secured the knot of the halter top, adjusted the decorative orange bow in the middle of the sweetheart neckline and then smoothed out the wrinkles in the puffy pleated skirt. The dress fit like a glove.

Birdie smiled softly as her hands glided across the silky satin fabric. Then she picked up the tiny smart phone from the table and placed it in her pocket. The thought of a replaced wardrobe and phone made her little white wings flutter with excitement. With a pep in her step, Birdie left the apartment and headed out of the crooked Pink Palace.

The orange light of dawn barely reached the street outside the complex, but the early birds were already singing. There was a little studio on the top floor of the building across from the pink apartments, and a choir of old canary grannies called _The Early Birds_ would practice in the morning. The soft melodies and harmonies of chapel hymns were soothing, but it was quickly drowned out by the thunderous roar of drums accompanied by the screech of electric guitar.

"**Damn hooligan!**" The canary granny elder shook her wrinkly fist out the window at the truck below. Then she slammed the panes closed with a loud _snap_.

The truck in question belonged to Mister Ox. It was an old rusty pickup truck with chipped red paint to exposed an orange underbelly. The windows were rolled down and the heavy metal music blared from the radio, bouncing off the walls to pollute the atmosphere.

Mister Ox was unfazed by the canary grannies insult from above. The landlord merely adjusted his rearview mirror, which made the large pair of fuzzy dice wiggle. His red eyes flickered when he noticed the dove standing on the cracked stoop. "Hop in!" Mister Ox hollered over the music, waving her over.

Birdie did as she was told and climbed in. She got comfortable in the leather seat as Mister Ox revved up the engine and then rolled down the street. The scenery changed as they drove deeper into the heart of the city. The small, crooked buildings on narrow streets transformed into large skyscrapers on wide roads surrounded by sidewalks with hundreds of people. The lanes of traffic increased, making the cars inch forward. The loud music filled the empty silence between the pair as the truck slowly continued down the congested road. Then Mister Ox broke that silence when he suddenly turned off the radio.

"Birdie," his voice was stern, but he anxiously gripped the wheel. He paused, his red eyes transfixed on the back of a stopped taxi. "You _need_ to open up a bank account."

Birdie slouched in her seat and she bit her lip. _This again_...was what she wanted to say, but she kept her mouth shut.

Mister Ox sighed at her reaction to the weary subject. "We've told ya before that you should, but didn't press 'cause what happened n' we wanted ta respect your choices as an adult. Now though..." the landlord trailed off, a large crease forming on his brow. Then he looked at her with worried frown. "You didn't lose everything, but damn girl, you lost _all_ your money in that fire. You _need_ ta put your money away in a bank."

"..."

"It'll be _safe_, Birdie," Mister Ox continued despite her silence. "I know you're nervous about banks, but that was a one time fluke, y'know? It ain't gonna happen again."

Birdie grabbed her wing and fiddled with the tiny white feathers. "You know..." She chuckled sheepishly. "It's ironic that the daughter of a banker would rather not deal with banks..."

"It'd be better than your money burning up in a fire," Mister Ox was blunt.

"Then at least I know where it went," Birdie countered sourly.

Mister Ox was silent, the landlord pursing his lips in thought. Then he sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Just think about it, alright?"

"...I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask." Mister Ox smiled lightly and he reached over to ruffle her ivory curls. Then he turned the radio back on, allowing the music to fill in the gaps of silence.

Birdie fidgeted in her seat. When she thought about the subject, it only refreshed her distrust in banks. The memories were bitter; her mind was soured by the experience at one of her weakest moments. The Ox couple only wanted the best for her, but she couldn't forgive how cruelly the bank reacted and handled her situation. They did nothing; she cried and pleaded, but they did _nothing_. The dove shook her head to cast aside the thoughts. She said she would think about it, but that didn't mean her opinion would change.

Birdie sighed, resting her head against the passenger side door, and she stared out the window.

Traffic sputtered and stalled in the heart of the city; the slow pace was a form of chaos. Dozens of cars honked at one another angrily, and civilians made hazardous attempts to cross the roads. There were even a few villains on the prowl, but nearby heroes removed the small time evil. By the time the pickup truck passed the scenes, the cleanup crews were already hard at work tidying the sidewalks of debris. It took an hour to get through traffic, and the old pickup truck parked right outside the restaurant.

"I'll be here at 10:30, alright?" Mister Ox said as he turned down the music so she could hear him.

"Okay," Birdie nodded. "See you later."

Mister Ox grabbed her arm before she could open the car door. He sent her a stern look. "Don't cause any trouble, y'hear?"

Birdie sighed, a tiny smile pulling on the corner of her lips. "Yes, sir."

The harsh expression on Mister Ox's features softened. "That's what I like ta hear," he smirked and playfully ruffled the dove's ivory curls.

Birdie hopped out of the pickup truck and waved goodbye to Mister Ox as he drove off. She watched his rusty truck disappear into a sea of cars, then the dove headed to the employee entrance. She entered the backroom, but then paused in the doorway, blinking at the sight of a new and unfamiliar face.

It was a short, young woman with long blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She had a pair of bright yellow wings that stirred restlessly against her shoulders, causing feathers to flitter around the room. The woman hummed a sweet tune as she smoothed out the wrinkles of her white blouse and adjusted the knot of her tiny green apron. But then the woman jumped, startled by the heavy metal door slamming shut behind the dove.

"_Holy crap!_" The woman yelped, whipping around to face the dove. Then the woman gasped in horror, staring at Birdie. "_Holy crap!_" She repeated. "You look awful!"

Birdie flinched at the insult and frowned. She was suddenly very self-conscious of her appearance, but she knew it was true. She didn't sleep a wink, and it showed.

Then the woman's eyes went wide, a new brand of terror appeared in her green eyes. "S—Sorry, sorry, sorry!" She apologized and bowed repeatedly to the dove. "That was so rude of me!"

Birdie grabbed her wing, plucking loose feathers. "It's alright," she murmured sheepishly, a sad smile on her lips. "I look like the walking dead. No wonder you screamed, you probably thought you saw a zombie..."

"Rough night, I take it?" The woman frowned.

"A little," Birdie replied. "But I'm feeling better, despite how I may look."

The woman was silent. Her bright yellow wings shuddered as she pursed her lips in thought, but then her green eyes opened wide and she smiled. "_Ah-ha!_" The woman slammed the side of her fist to her open palm, and her yellow wings flapped in excitement. "I have an idea!"

Birdie cocked her head to the side in confusion. "For what?"

The smile on the young woman's lips grew brighter as she reached forward, grabbing Birdie's wrist. "Here, lemme help ya feel _even_ better," and she pulled the dove closer.

"I—I, um, I—I—" Birdie stuttered, squirming uncomfortably as the strange woman suddenly pinned her against the lockers. The dove's skin went a sickly shade of white, sweat dripping down her cheeks and nose. And her knees started to buckle, threatening to give out from underneath her. "P—P—Please wait a minu—!"

"—Some concealer and foundation will do the trick," the woman abruptly cut her off, grinning happily and completely oblivious to the dove's reaction. "We can't have ya looking like a zombie at work, now can we?"

Birdie felt a cold wave of relief rush over her body. Color returned to her cheeks and her shaky knees relaxed. If the woman hadn't mentioned makeup products, Birdie felt like her little heart would pop.

"_Hmm?_" The woman chirped, and her brows furrowed in confusion. "You okay?"

Birdie felt a tiny bead of sweat appeared on her brow; the strange woman was truly unfazed. "Just a little startled. I don't usually get pinned to a locker at work..."

"Oh, my bad." The woman chuckled and scratched the back of her head. "I get so excited sometimes I lose myself in the moment. I was just thrilled at the idea of doing someone's makeup! I don't think I've done that since high school. Or was it middle school..." the woman trailed off, looking up at the ceiling in thought as she curled a strand of her blonde hair around her finger. Then she shrugged. "It must have been awhile if I can't remember."

Birdie felt another large bead of sweat form on her brow. "It's alright. You don't have to do—"

"_Nonono!_ I insist!" The woman cut the dove off. "Every girl needs to put on her warpaint or else the day will have her head!" She declared boldly, stars twinkling in her green eyes as she clenched her fists tightly.

Birdie felt a third bead of sweat trickle down her brow. "I think you're exaggerating just a tad..."

The woman scoffed and waved aside the dove's concern. "It's warpaint or zombie, and honey, I'm not letting you choose," then she turned to her locker and rooted through her large black purse, pulling out the necessary items: a tube of conceal and a foundation compact. "We have the same skin tone, so it should be fine," the woman smiled as she held up the concealer in one hand and the foundation in the other. "Just hold still for me, alright?"

Birdie held up her hands in defense. "I don't know—"

"_Nuh-uhuh!_" The woman waved the tube of ivory concealer in a scolding fashion, which forced the dove's back closer to the lockers. "No complaining! You need to look your best for work, yeah? We can't have _customers_ screaming 'bout the zombie apocalypse when they see the hostess at the door!"

Birdie pursed her lips. The woman was right. Birdie was the first face customers saw, and she had to make sure she left a good impression. Then Birdie's brows furrowed in confusion. "But I'm not the hostess? Not right now at least..."

"Starting today you are~!" The woman chirped, her yellow wings fluttering happily. "So, let me make sure our hostess looks like a beautiful princess!"

"With warpaint..." Birdie murmured with a tiny smile.

"A _warrior_ princess," the strange woman corrected and quickly got to work.

The woman moved with amazing speed. She applied a layer of cold concealer and then foundation to Birdie's skin in the blink of an eye. She even pulled out makeup brushes within that small time-frame, using them to smooth the powder into an even coat across the dove's pale face. The woman also styled the dove's long bangs, brushing them to the side and pinning them back with a pretty orange clip. When the woman was done, she merely smirked confidently and turned Birdie around to face the mirror hanging from the open locker door. The dove was startled to see how _normal_ she looked. It was as if she got a full eight hours of sleep and wasn't caught up in nearly five deadly accidents in the past two days.

"You're practically glowing," the woman swooned, clasping her hands together in front of her chest. "You'll really knock 'em dead today, Warrior Princess Birdie!"

Birdie paused. Her curious expression in the mirror morphed into concern. "H—How'd you know my name?"

The chipper look on the woman's face melted away. A bead of sweat appeared on her brow and she chuckled anxiously. "W—Well, I just heard a lot 'bout you. T—That's all," she stuttered, guiltily scratching her cheek.

Birdie's eyes opened up wide, and her nerves got the better of her when she yelled: "W—Who told you about m—me!?"

"_Fox!_" The woman shouted, waving her hands in defense. "F—Fox told me about you! You see, I'm the new server, Canary! S—So, please take care of me!" Then Canary bowed her head, her yellow wings fidgeting restlessly.

Birdie stared at Canary, and the dove shifted on her heels. Despite the fact that her question was answered, it felt incomplete. The woman's reactions were very suspicious, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Though, the dove didn't have a chance to confront the woman.

When he heard his name yelled in such a desperate tone, Fox hurried into the backroom from the kitchen. He sent Canary a perplexed look. "What's up? Do you have another question?"

"N—_Nope!_" Canary quickly raised her head and then skipped over to Fox. She snaked her arms around his, squeezing tightly then swiftly guided him out of the room. "I was just getting to know Birdie! Sweet girl, isn't she? I know we're gonna have so much fun working together! She really needs a break from serving, yeah? She will surely be the hostess with the mostess, and—"

Canary continued to talk endlessly, which made Fox blink in utter confusion.

Birdie watched them leave. There were goosebumps on her skin, but her body felt hot. The unnatural mix of temperatures made her feel uneasy. Then Birdie took a deep breath in and out; she just needed to think it through. It was reasonable to believe that Fox said something to Canary, which caused the woman to act so strangely.

_Did Fox share a something with Canary? Most likely, Birdie. Then did Canary get embarrassed because she could barely keep the secret? Probably, Birdie. Canary did mention in her rant to Fox that you needed a break from server. That's hardly a secret to be worried about._

Birdie pursed her lips. In conclusion, it was just a tiny bit of workroom gossip and nothing to worry about. Fox was kind-hearted, and Canary was still nice, despite her odd personality. Feeling convinced, Birdie relaxed and moved on. She changed into her uniform and then headed out to start her day.

Work went by as normal, and in a good way. Since Canary was the new server, Birdie was the hostess again, a role she was confident in. Customers were pleased, which made it easier on Fox and Canary, especially Canary. Canary was new, yet Birdie couldn't help but notice how in tune the woman was with the routine. It was scary how quick of a learner she was.

Manager Wolfe was ecstatic to see his employees acting like a well-oiled machine. The manager even stepped out of the restaurant for a few hours because he was satisfied with their work.

Birdie felt proud at the end of the day. It was like the pieces of her life were slowly falling back into place. Her wings fluttered with excitement as she walked out onto the sidewalk with her coworkers.

Fox groaned as he stretched his arms high over his head. "Damn! Things are so smooth when three people are on the floor! It's like freaking silk, man!" He grinned, placing his hands on his hips. His red ears perked up and his fuzzy tail swished back and forth happily. "It was a walk in the park, dontcha think, Birdie?"

"It was a very good day," she agreed with a nod. Then she scratched the side of her cheek, chuckling sheepishly. "I hope it keeps up because this change of pace is like a breath of fresh air after all the chaos."

"It's really been that bad, hasn't it?" Canary frowned, a worried crease on her brow.

"Oh, don't worry! I'm fine, I'm fine!" Birdie waved her hands in defense. "It was just a little lapse with bad karma, but I think I'm on her good side again. Today has been so..." the dove trailed off, her sheepish grin softened. "...It's been nice."

"Good," Canary smiled in return, but there was still a glossy look in her green eyes; she looked _sad_. "You really needed a break, huh?"

"You have no idea," Birdie sighed, and she grabbed her wing, her fingers raking through her feathers. "Let's hope it's not just a break and lasts forever. I don't need anymore thrills in my lifetime."

Fox frowned, and he placed a hand on Birdie's shoulder. "Don't jinx yourself now..."

Birdie winced. "_Oooh_, you're right," she closed her eyes and groaned in pain, rapidly plucking feathers from her wing. "I totally jinxed myself..."

Fox chuckled lightly. "Want me to walk you to the station?" He asked with a warm smile. "It might make you feel better."

"I got a ride today," Birdie chirped happily, and she released her wing so both could flutter happily against her back. "Mister Ox is picking me up soon."

"Oh..." Fox mumbled, his warm grin weakening. He glanced away and scratched the back of his head. "Looks like you'll be in safe hands no doubt..."

Canary quietly watched the exchange. The woman had a blank expression on her pretty features, but then her green eyes lit up. She sweetly smiled as she placed her hands behind her back and leaned forward. "Then can you walk _me_ to the station, Fox?" Canary asked cutely, teetering back and forth on her heels.

Fox stared at Canary in shock. "...What?"

Canary crossed her arms over her chest and pouted, puffing out her cheeks. "You ask Birdie, but not little ol' me? I feel rather left out now."

Birdie chuckled, a tiny bead of sweat on her brow. "Why don't you, Fox?" The dove suggested. "It's only fair since you asked me even though Canary was right here, too..."

"Yeah!" Canary agreed, her yellow wings flapping wildly in response to her dissatisfaction. "It was very rude of you, Fox! Forgetting me just like that..." and she sniffled, her lower lip quivering slightly. "How could you do that to a girl, huh?"

"A—Alright, alright," Fox put his hands out in defense, multiple beads of sweat dripping down his brow. "Don't get worked up, Canary. I'll walk you to the station—"

"_Yay~!_" Canary cheered, singing the note adoringly. She clasped her hands together as her yellow wings happily danced_. _Then the woman leapt forward, wrapping her arms around Fox's tightly. "Do you know any shortcuts? My normal route takes _waaaay_ too long. I could use the extra sleep...so a shortcut would be awesome to use! Can you show me—?"

Canary quickly dragged a bewildered Fox down the sidewalk. Canary's voice became distant as the pair walked out of sight, vanishing into the sea of people.

Birdie chuckled anxiously for poor Fox. He looked extremely lost dealing with Canary's aggressive personality. Then two quick honks snared the dove's attention. Birdie looked away from the crowd and over at the road. She saw a familiar rusty pickup truck parked along the sidewalk.

The driver's side window rolled down, causing a burst of powerful music to surge outside. Mister Ox leaned out the open window. There was an excited look in his eyes and he eagerly waved her over, hollering: "C'mon! Hop in!"

Birdie did as she was told, quickly getting into the truck and then she settled down for the long trip home.

Mister Ox rolled up his window, but he didn't put the pickup in drive. Instead he leaned over Birdie and opened the glove compartment, pulling out a white envelope. There was a large grin on his lips as he handed her the letter. "Here ya go, Birdie. This'll be quite the treat, I reckon."

Birdie cocked her head to the side, confused. She took the letter and inspected it. There was nothing strange about it; it felt light as a feather and only her name was written neatly on the front. "What is it?" She asked, looking back at Mister Ox.

"A compensation check," Mister Ox was blunt.

Birdie's jaw went slack. "_What?_"

"Some kid came by today," Mister Ox explained. "Said he was Tsukuyomi from Hawks Agency, 'n he was out delivering _these_," and the landlord pointed to the letter. "To y'all in the accident last night. Hen n' Jackal got one, too."

"What about Old Man Weasel?" Birdie questioned.

"Government's reimbursing him for the damage 'cause his business was targeted and totaled by villains," Mister Ox answered. "Crews already got ta work rebuilding Suddies from the ground up. So, don't think he got anything from Hawks."

Birdie stared at the envelope, her thumbs brushing against the smooth paper. "Do...you know how much?"

"Nah," Mister Ox shook his head. "But Jackal called ta brag that he got 40,000," and the landlord rolled his eyes. "Damn bastard should've been resting. Instead he went outta his way ta be a pain in my ass."

Birdie pursed her lips and she slowly tore off the top of the envelope. "That's not too bad—" and she nearly choked when she pulled out the check.

Mister Ox blinked and he impatiently asked: "How much?"

"..."

His brows furrowed. "Birdie?"

"..."

Then he leaned over to investigate the dove's horrified silence. His red eyes grew wide when he saw the amount printed on the check. "_Holy shhh—! _That's a lot of zeroes!"

Birdie was awestruck. Jackal had gotten a puny ¥40,000 whereas she got _ten thousand times_ that. She knew that popular heroes were paid well by the government, and also private companies for sponsorships and even advertisements. She even heard rumors that Hawks was quite the clever entrepreneur. However, the sight of _400 million yen_ on a single check made her brain short-circuit.

"Damn, Birdie!" Mister Ox reached over and ruffled the dove's ivory curls so roughly that Birdie's head jolted forward. "You won't hafta worry about money for the rest of your life with this! Doesn't mean you should stop working, but you can go ta college n' follow your dreams! Just like how your pops wanted!"

Birdie flinched at the mention of her father. She frowned, staring down at the check in her hands. She recognized the fine print. It was the same as the handwriting on the hospital form. Each character was written small, but with precision. It was for her, and the reason why was more than just compensation. His reason was clearly stated in the lower left-hand corner. It read: _for hurting you._

Birdie bit her lip, and slowly put the check back in the envelope. "...Mister Ox," then she faced the landlord, a pleading look in her emerald eyes.

Mister Ox's excited expression melted away, and he glared at her sternly. "Birdie, no," he shook his head. "You _need_ this money."

Birdie paused, collecting her thoughts. Her eyes were glued to the envelope resting in her lap. "...Yes, I am struggling," she admitted quietly. "But that doesn't mean I'm not surviving. There are a few things I can accept, but this isn't one of them."

Birdie swore on her parents' grave that she would earn what was lost with her own two hands, no matter how long it took. Accepting Hawks' check would go against that promise, especially with the reason he wrote. She didn't want there to be any misunderstandings. Not again.

And Mister Ox knew that.

The landlord exhaled sharply. "Damn it, Birdie," then out of frustration, he put the pickup truck in drive and merged into traffic.

Birdie closed her eyes and sighed. She knew Mister Ox only wanted the best for her, but she needed to do what was right. The envelope in her hands felt like a brick. It got heavier and heavier the longer she held it. It weighed a ton by the time she felt the rusty pickup truck come to a halt.

Birdie opened her eyes and looked out the window where she saw a large sign outside surrounded by manicured square shrubs. It was a large slab of black marble with sharp silver print welded onto the stone's smooth surface. It read _Bird's Eye View_ and below the words was a logo. It was the silhouette of a red hawk branded in a silver outline.

Mister Ox said nothing as Birdie got out.

There was a deep crease on his brow as he leaned back in his seat and let out a long sigh. His fists gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white.

Birdie smiled sadly. "I'm sorry..." she murmured as she shut the passenger's side door. Then she walked around the truck to the wide sidewalk.

The driver's side window rolled down. "Birdie," Mister Ox called out to her. When she looked back at him, she saw that he was glowing with relief. "I'm proud of ya. Your Pops would be, too."

His words gave her strength. Birdie's little white wings fluttered eagerly, and she clutched the envelope close to her chest. "Thank you," she bowed her head with a smile. Then she pivoted on her heel, facing the tall building before her.

The skyscraper brushed against the dark clouds, and thousands of glass windows reflected the colorful neon cityscape. Men and women in business suits trickled in and out of the building. They climbed up and down wide black marble stairs that burned with bright lights built into the steps. The dove followed the flow of business men and women through the building's large glass doors. Inside, soft jazz music drifted from the ceiling speakers and blended with the tiny murmur of men and woman discussing late night business.

The lobby was brightly lit and decorated with a modern chic. The flooring was a glossy ivory that reflected the world like a mirror, and the high ceiling was painted ebony black. The large light fixtures hanging from the ceiling had black rectangular shades that matched the leather sofas on the floor. The rectangular couches were arranged around glass coffee tables that had small bonsai trees and organized stacks of magazines on top.

Along the lobby's back wall was a wide receptionist desk that housed a row of nicely dressed women. Hanging from the wall above the women were thirteen large marble plaques imprinted with silver letters. Each one read the name of a business that resided within the building, but in the middle of the twelve signs was the red hawk logo.

Birdie took a deep breath in and out. Then she shuffled to the receptionist desk.

The woman that sat under the red hawk logo was busy typing away at her keyboard. A thoughtful crease was etched on her brow and she subconsciously tucked loose strands of ginger hair behind her pierced ears. Her large crimson wings bristled anxiously against the back of her seat as she stared at her computer screen. Then her brown eyes flickered when she noticed the dove's presence on the other side of the counter.

The receptionist turned away from her computer, and she smoothed out the fabric of her emerald babydoll dress.

"Good evening," she greeted the dove with a million dollar smile. "My name is Robin, and I'm the head receptionist for the building. How may I help you, ma'am?"

Birdie clutched the envelope in her hands, the white paper wrinkling under the pressure. "I'm here to see Hawks..."

Robin's smile melted instantly. The warmth froze over, and a disgruntled expression warped her features. Her crimson feathers flared out to make the receptionist's wings appear bigger. "May I ask _why?_" Her tone was as cold as her icy glare. "You do realize how late it is, ma'am. If it's an emergency, you must use the correct contact information."

"I—It's not an emergency. I just have something to give to him," Birdie explained. "Well, um, more like _return_ to him."

The receptionist curled her lip when she saw the envelope in the dove's hands. Robin glared at the dove, but then a smug sneer crossed her rosy lips. "He's not in right now, ma'am," her tone was so sickly sweet it oozed with poison. "Please come back tomorrow to make an appointment, but fair warning, his schedule is quite booked for the next few weeks."

"An _appointment?_" Birdie's eyes opened wide. "B—But it's important—!"

"_He. Is. Not. In._" Robin sharply emphasized each word, hissing the syllables through her teeth. "Do _not_ cause a scene, ma'am. You're upsetting others with your outburst."

Birdie took a tiny step back. She scanned the lobby and felt like the walls had grown eyes to judge her.

They _stared_ at her.

They _watched_ her.

The other receptionists were irritated. The women glared, annoyed that the dove disturbed their work. Birdie heard the curious whispers behind her back, the voices clawing at her ears. The other employees scrutinized her, eagerly waiting to see a late night spectacle.

The weight crushed the dove's soul, and she felt so small against an atmosphere closing in around her. All color drained from her cheeks, but Birdie felt her skin crawling with uncomfortable heat.

"Please take your _fan_ letter and move along now, ma'am," Robin scoffed with a small, but victorious smirk on her lips.

Birdie pursed her lips and shoved the envelope in her pocket. "...It's not a fan letter," she whispered softly in defense.

"Please leave, ma'am," Robin glared at Birdie. "Or I'll have to call—"

_Brrr-ing, brrr-ing_.

The ringtone interrupted Robin. The phone on her desk started to shake, and the receptionist disregarded everything around her.

She quickly answered the call with a sweet smile. "Yes, sir~!" She happily chirped into the receiver. "What do you need? More accident forms? Or maybe a cup of cof—"

The muffled voice on the other end of the call cut her off. It was soft, short and concise. The words drifted into the receptionist's ear, and it made her eyes open wide. Then the voice cut out, and only the sound of a dial tone filtered from the speaker.

Robin shakily placed the phone back, then mechanically looked at the dove. A fictitious smile came to the receptionist's lips, and her brown eyes smoldered with rage. "It seems Hawks just returned, and was expecting you. My apologies, ma'am." She dully stated. Then she pointed towards a long hallway to the right of the lobby. "Please make your way to the elevators. His agency is on the top floor."

Birdie fidgeted, but she shook off the goosebumps. The large weight disappeared from her shoulders. The eyes on her vanished and the whispers were silenced. Any misunderstanding had been swiftly resolved without her needing to say a single word. It made the dove feel more comfortable as she made her way to the elevators.

Birdie rode the carriage to the top floor, and she plucked at her wing. Little white feathers pooled around her feet as she slowly rose higher and higher. The tiny ding of the elevator signaled she reached the top floor, and the carriage door rolled open.

The low lighting exposed the view outside rather than the reflection inside. Huge windows overlooked the night sky and the twinkling cityscape below. The winged hero's agency was an open floor plan, illustrating the image of a bird's eye view. A glass wall separated the agency and the hallway with the elevators and other offices on the floor.

Inside the agency, there were two large sofas and a wide glass coffee table sat between them. The table was covered in piles of paperwork and files, and sitting on one of the plush couches was Hawks.

The hero leaned forward in his seat and typed away at a laptop that rested among the paperwork spread out on the table. A thoughtful crease was etched onto his brow as he concentrated on the glowing screen, but then his eyes flickered to the door.

A faint smile crept to his lips when she walked into the room. He pushed up his blue visor, placing it on top of his head and he stood up. "Hey, Birdie," he greeted as he strolled over. "It's good to see you again."

Birdie's tiny white wings shuddered timidly against her back. "Hello..."

Then Hawks sighed, his shoulders dropping like they balanced a heavy weight. The hero glanced away with a remorseful expression. "I'm sorry about Robin," he apologized. "I hope she didn't give you too much trouble. She gets a little, uh, _jealous_ sometimes," and he paused, a blank look in his eyes. Then aggravation quickly snapped onto his expression. "_Tch_. Okay, _very_ jealous, _very_ fast, _all_ the time. It's one of her..._bad_ traits."

"She gave me a bit of a jog, but I'm fine," Birdie replied. Then she grabbed her wing, running her fingers through the tiny white plumes. "But she said you were..._expecting me_."

Hawks sheepishly scratched the back of his head. "I actually, um, wasn't." Then he closed his eyes and sighed. "Like I said, Robin gets jealous and she probably said something rude to make you feel embarrassed, yeah? You wouldn't be the first it's happened to." The hero clicked his tongue in annoyance. "I've almost missed out on a few good deals because of her attitude..."

"How did you know I was here though?" Birdie asked, plucking loose feathers from her wing. "She never mentioned me by name..."

"You think I don't know who comes in and out of the building?" Hawks nonchalantly smirked, his eyebrow perked in curiosity. "I do _own_ the place, y'know?"

Birdie blinked, then her eyes opened wide. "Ah, that's true!" It made sense that the owner of a building knew who came and went, especially if that owner was the nation's No. 2 Hero. The thought calmed her nerves.

Hawks smiled softly when he saw her relax, and warmth radiated from his amber eyes. "I wanted to make sure you'd feel more comfortable, Birdie."

"Oh." Birdie blushed and bashfully glanced away. "Thank you, it did help. I mean, I didn't feel like some crazy fan stalking you in the middle of the night after you intervened..."

"That's at least one of Robin's good points." Hawks admitted. "Her sour attitude _does_ get rid of people I'd rather not see. _Especially_ in the middle of the night. It's why I keep her around."

Birdie felt a bead of sweat on her brow. "That's one way to keep a job."

"_Mmm-hmm_," Hawks airily hummed with a tiny grin. He placed his hands behind his back and leaned forward. There was a coy look in his eyes as he said: "With how beautiful you look, I can see why she thought you were a threat. Especially today. I really like your dress, it suits you."

"Uh, u-um—?" Birdie didn't know how to respond; a compliment, a flirt and a revelation all wrapped into one like a little present. So, she dumbly inquired: "That's a weird thing to imply?"

"I'm not implying anything," Hawks cooed sweetly. "She is the jealous type, remember?"

Birdie's cheeks burned red, and she avoided his stare by fiddling with the orange clip that held her long bangs to the side. She teetered back and forth on her heels, but then she stopped. She slapped her cheeks, dispelling the bashfulness from her mind as she mumbled: "_Dressdressdresspocket_," in a long quiet slur.

Hawks chuckled, amused by her reaction.

The redness faded from the dove's cheeks, and she dug through her dress pocket, pulling out the wrinkled envelope. "H—Here," and she held it out to him.

The brightness on Hawks' face faded when he saw the letter, and he hesitantly took it from her hand. "...This is the check I gave you," he smiled sadly. He held it in both his hands, his thumbs slowly brushing over the crinkled paper. Then he looked back up at her, chuckling wryly. "What did I tell you about looking a gift horse in the mouth?"

"I'm sorry, but I just can't accept this," Birdie bowed to him respectfully. "I appreciate the thought, but I don't need it."

Hawks was silent for a moment, the hero fidgeting where he stood and his red wings bristled. He frowned, his brows furrowing worriedly and his amber eyes glossed over. "...But you said you lost everything."

"I—I didn't," Birdie stammered, quickly shaking her head. "I was...I was..." She pursed her lips and paused. She collected her composure, calming her nerves before she continued. "I was overwhelmed last night," she murmured, clasping her hands together. "I exploded at you. I...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that, especially after you saved me. I mean, I didn't even get to thank you properly..."

Hawks froze. His eyes grew wide and his jaw went slack. The envelope in his hands fluttered to the floor.

Birdie smiled lightly as she grabbed her wing, tightly holding onto the white feathers. "It's late, I know, but thank you for saving me—"

Hawks suddenly leapt forward and wrapped his arms around her. Birdie froze in his embrace, unable to move or speak. His gloved fingers weaved through her ivory curls, and they clung to her waist. He held her close to his chest and his bright red wings enveloped her, wrapping both of them into a feathery cocoon.

"I thought you hated me," he mumbled, burying his nose into the crook of her neck.

"H—_Hate_ you?" Birdie croaked, squirming anxiously in his grasp. Her heart was racing, beating rapidly against her ribcage. Her little white wing flapped wildly against her shoulders. "How could I _hate_ you? I—I mean, you can't really _hate_ a person you don't even know, you know...?"

Hawks paused, and the dove shuddered when she felt his hot breath bathe her ear in warmth. Then he whispered softly: "Would you like to know me?"

Birdie's felt her heart would pop out of her chest. Her skin was hot, prickling with goosebumps. She mustered up all her strength and shoved him away. "_Ah-hahaha_," she laughed awkwardly. "W—Would you look at the time," and she glanced down at the non-existent watch on her wrist. "It's so gosh darn late, a-and I'm sure you're still busy with work. I should _really_ be going. I—I don't want to take up a-anymore of your time."

"Are you sure?" Hawks took a small step forward. "I didn't get to see you at all today..." then he reached out and gently grabbed her hand, his thumb brushing against her knuckles. "Maybe we could spend a few minutes together over coffee? Or do you prefer tea?"

Birdie's face was glowing red. She felt like she was a living thermometer, and hot steam whistled from her boiled ears. She ripped her hand from his grasp and cradled it against her chest. "B-But w-work—"

Hawks wasn't discouraged by her actions. "I can take a little break if it's with you," he told her with a playful smirk and wink.

"Oh, I, um, well, you s-see—" Birdie stumbled over her words; her mind was a mess and it made her dizzy.

The hero inched closer, and the dove felt her back touch the cold surface of the glass door. Then vibrations from deep within her pocket broke Birdie from her trance. She waved her hands wildly between them, warding off the hero. Hawks stopped his pursuit, taking a step back to give her space.

"My ride is—he is, um, waiting outside," Birdie pat the pleated skirt that hid her phone. Then she turned sharply on her heel, whirling around. "I don't want—"

_**Bang!**_

Birdie yelped in pain, bouncing back from the trembling glass door. Tears swelled in her emerald eyes as she clutched her throbbing red nose.

"B—Birdie?" Hawks' lighthearted tone flipped to concern, and he rushed to her side. "Are you okay? Do you want an ice pack?"

Birdie turned her head away from him, hiding her face. "I—I—I'm fine..." she weakly waved a hand over her shoulder. "Please don't worry about my dignity..."

"You just ran into my door..." Hawks countered, and then he smiled softly. "Janitor must of cleaned it a bit too well today, huh?"

"It's sq—squeaky clean..." Birdie muttered, massaging her sore nose with her fingers. "I'm just like one of those dumb birds in all those window cleaner commercials."

"You're not a dumb birdy." Hawks chuckled. "Just a nervous birdy, and it was my fault," then he gently pulled her arm, trying to turn her around. "So, let me take a quick peek—"

"P—Please don't," Birdie protested, keeping her back towards him. "I said I was fine. I—It just stings a bit..."

"Then let me get you some _ice_, Birdie." Hawks insisted, and he grabbed her shoulder. "C'mon, just let me look—"

"I have ice at home!" Birdie blurted out. She roughly shrugged his hand away and then rapidly waved a hand over her shoulder at him. "Bye-bye! See you tomorrow!" And then she fled the room, this time opening the door properly.

A whirlwind of emotions consumed her mind as she swiftly left the building. She clutched her nose with tears in her eyes and her cheeks stained crimson red. She ignored all the curious looks she received along the way; they didn't overwrite the anxiety, embarrassment and confusion she currently faced.

The familiar sight of the rusty pickup truck parked outside was welcomed, and she rushed to the sanctuary.

Mister Ox was utterly baffled when he saw the sorry state of her appearance. "_Birdie!_" He reached over and grabbed her cheeks, forcing her to face him. The landlord inspected her condition, a concerned look in his red eyes. "What the hell happened to ya!?"

"Please go." Birdie groaned. "I just wanna go to sleep..."

Birdie's lethargic response only worried Mister Ox even more.

Mister Ox grabbed Birdie's shoulders, shaking the dove roughly. "Why are ya clutching your nose, girl?" He questioned, a horrified expression on his features. "He...He didn't _do_ something to ya, did he?!

"_Nooo!_" Birdie yelled, slapping the landlord's hands away. "It's because I ran into a stupid door!"

Mister Ox blinked, but then he slammed the heel of his hand to his forehead. "_For the love of_—" he grumbled underneath his breath. Then he looked back at the dove, scowling. "Why'd ya run into a damn door, Birdie?!"

"Because it was embarrassing!"

"What was embarrassing!?"

"He _flirted_ with me!" Birdie blurted out. "H—He laid the flirtation butter thick on this Birdie Biscuit!"

Mister Ox was silent.

The landlord stared at the dove blankly, but then his red eyes flickered with darkness. His tan skin boiled, turning a bright shade of red as two angry puffs of smoke blew from his flared nostrils that made his hooped piercing sway.

"..._That little motherfucker,_" Mister Ox seethed, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal tense muscles. "I'll pluck out all his god damn feathers—"

"_Stop!_" Birdie grabbed the landlord before he could exit the truck, and she struggled to keep him in his seat. "Let's go home! Please just take me home!"

"Not 'till I give that bastard a piece of my fist!"

"_Nooo!_ You'll just make it worse!"

"I don't give a damn! He ain't getting away with it!"

"Mister Ox!"

It took a lot to convince the landlord to calm down, but he cursed the hero the whole way home. Birdie let Mister Ox rant away as she closed her eyes for much needed rest.


	4. Episode 1: Hunger, Chapter IV

**Birds of a Feather**

**Episode 1: Hunger**

**Chapter**** IV: August 5th**

The vibrant orange sun brushed against the crooked buildings, making the red bricks glow in the morning light. It cast dark shadows across the narrow street, the shade cooling the hot summer atmosphere. A breeze broke the thick humidity, the light wind wafting through Birdie's dress. The long pleated skirt danced around her legs, the white and orange polkadot fabric lively fluttering behind her.

It was another vintage dress from her new, but borrowed, wardrobe. The cotton material was prefect for the warm weather compared to the heavy stain dress she wore yesterday. Though, it didn't help make her walk to work any easier.

Birdie shuffled down the sidewalk, swaying to and fro with each step she took. She sighed, her little white wings flickering behind her back as she massaged her aching temple.

Birdie was extremely tired; she was out like a light the second her head had touched her pillow the previous night. Working with little to no sleep was sadly a common event in her current situation, but the dove marched through like a trooper. However, the conversation with Hawks left her unnaturally drained.

For once, her encounter with the hero was relatively _normal_, if she put aside the fact that he flirted with her and implied that he found her attractive. It wasn't something she could easily put aside, hence the throbbing headache.

Customers didn't find Birdie attractive. She screwed up orders too much to be considered _cute _to the usual clientele at Wolf's Den. She was seen as a _callous_, and the regulars would actively avoid sitting in her sections and would groan when there was no choice. The neighborhood men never flirted with Birdie either. Mister Ox's primal-protective-instincts was the cause for that. A few men were brave enough to try, but they were instantly scared off by the landlord's fist. Quite literally.

Only Jackal got a pass since he was Mister Ox's boss. Mister Ox couldn't possibly punch his boss out of fatherly rage.

That made Birdie stop walking to scratch the back of her head in thought.

_Maybe?_ Birdie wondered, but she wasn't entirely sure.

Mister Ox could have knocked Jackal's teeth out and she didn't know about it, but she was certain she would have heard about it. Jackal would never let Mister Ox live something like that down. Jackal was the type of man to dangle information high over anyone's head, especially if it put him at an advantage.

"Hey! Hey! Lookie, lookie! It's Birdie, it's Birdie! Hey, Birdie, _heeeey!_"

Birdie's train of thought shattered when she heard the familiar high-pitched voice squeal her name.

The dove looked toward the short bridge she usually crossed. Only a thin crowd blocked her view, so she could see that on the railing was three neighborhood children that also lived in the Pink Palace.

"Ducky? Crow?" Birdie's brows furrowed into a tight knot at the sight she witnessed. "What in the world are you two doing?! You're setting a bad example for Chick!"

Ducky ignored the dove's concern and carried on. The small grade schooler sported his usual muddy overalls and a red baseball cap that covered his messy blonde hair. On his dirty face was a prideful grin that reached from ear to ear as he hovered a few inches above the wide stone railing, despite his brown wings struggling to support his weight in the air.

Crow rolled his eyes with a scoff at the dove. The short middle schooler was perched on the railing in a low crouch, and then he leapt high into the air, his black wings forcibly flapping against the wind.

Chick danced around on the ground beside the railing, her bright pink princess dress scraping along the cement. The toddler couldn't even reach the railing, despite how many times she desperately tried, which made her yellow tail feathers bristle in frustration.

Birdie quickly rushed over to the group of children. "Stop that you two!" She scolded, grabbing Chick's hand and then she gently pulled the toddler away from the railing.

"No!" Chick protested, whining loudly as she wildly reached out for the railing. "_Nooooooo!_"

Birdie firmly held onto Chick's hand, much to Chick's dismay, and the dove kept the toddler at her side. "You know you shouldn't be using your quirks like that!" Birdie scowled at the two boys. "You'll get in trouble with the _police_ if they see you."

"But we ain't hurting nobody, Birdie!" Ducky objected as he landed back down on the railing, planting his bare feet firmly against the stone. "We gotta practice else we'll never be heroes!" Then the grade schooler leapt back into the air, flapping his wings to soar a mere two inches from the railing.

"Wanna play!" Chick cried, tears swelling at the corner of her large brown eyes. "Wanna play! Wanna play! Wanna play!" The toddler continued to push and pull against Birdie's hand, fighting to escape.

Birdie's grip locked Chick into place, and the dove looked down at the toddler. "I know Mama doesn't want you getting into trouble."

At the mention of her mother, Chick calmed down. Her struggle ceased, and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, sniffling loudly.

"Especially when you practice your quirks at _school_," Birdie snapped, wagging her finger at the two boys. "It's dangerous to practice here."

"No, it ain't!" Ducky huffed, placing his hands on his hips, and he stuck his tongue out at the dove in defiance.

"It's not like we'll _die_ or anything," Crow scoffed, his large black wings beating against the wind as he hovered high in the air. Then his wings suddenly shuddered. A mixture of shock and fear crossed his features as his charcoal feathers curled, and Crow shakily landed on the railing.

Birdie rapidly tapped her foot against the pavement, and she eyed Crow with a stern look. "See, your wings can't withstand your body weight yet. They give out too quickly. While practice is important, this is _not_ the place to do it. At school, you'll have mats under you in case you fall, you know this!"

"It's _summer vacation_." Crow rolled his ebony eyes. "Plus, they barely give us any time to practice our quirks at school."

"You're only a first year," Birdie sighed. "You have three years to practice before applying for a Hero's Course at high school."

Crow crossed his arms with a scoff. Then the middle schooler looked away sharply, his expression contorted in annoyance.

"I gotta practice!" Ducky huffed, the grade schooler landing firmly on the railing, and he flapped his weary brown wings. "I gotta be the best!"

"You can't be the best if you're wearing yourself out. Both of you," Birdie looked between the two boys. "I'm starting to sound like a broken record now, but this is _not_ the place to practice. The bridge is still high enough that you can easily hurt yourself if you fall. You'll bruise yourself, or possibly break a bone depending how you land. The pain will daze you and make it hard to swim back to the surface."

"And we'd drown, right?" Crow bluntly stated.

Birdie blinked. "You are so gosh darn morbid, Crow."

Crow shrugged, indifferent.

Ducky, on the other hand, looked mortified at the revelation. His blue eyes snapped open wide with fear, and cold sweat dripped down his pale cheeks. "D—Does that mean we can _die?!_"

Birdie frowned; she was trying to avoid scaring poor Ducky. Then she mustered up a soft smile, and she held out her hand, offering it to the grade schooler. "If you get off the railing, then you don't need to worry."

Ducky snared Birdie's hand with an ironclad grip. His tiny hands clung to hers, and his little fingers clawed into her skin.

With a grunt, Birdie hoisted him off the railing and onto the ground beside her.

"There, there, Ducky." She cooed, squeezing the grade schooler's hand tightly with reassurance. "You're okay."

Crow scoffed at the scene. "I'm not gonna let a little bad thought stop me," and then the middle schooler flew up into the air and then quickly landed. He repeated this action of taking flight and landing over and over.

"Stop it, Crow." Birdie glared. "You're gonna slip."

Crow confidently smirked, and between breaths, he grunted: "No. I. Won't—" but the middle schooler was interrupted when his foot slipped against the stone railing, and he lost his balance.

Chick shrieked, covering her face to hide her teary eyes.

"C—_Crow!_" Ducky gasped, rushing to the railing. "You gotta fly!"

Birdie was calm in the face of danger. She stepped forward and reached out, grabbing the scruff of Crow's black jacket with both her hands before he disappeared out of sight. "I gotcha," she sighed, leaning over the railing. "You're lucky you're still just a damn little squirt. I wouldn't be able to grab ya like this otherwise."

Crow tightly grasped her wrists as he dangled over the edge. There was sweat on his brow and his black wings were limp against his back. "T—Thanks..." he mumbled under his breath.

Birdie smiled, a relieved twinkle in her emerald eyes. "Your wings are tuckered out, huh?" She whispered. "It's a good thing I was prepared—"

Then her thought was cut short by the roar of an explosion in the distance.

A giant plume of smoke billowed high into the sky while a large fire cackled against the district's rooftops. Faint screams drifted through the crooked streets, and a tremor shook the ground for miles. Civilians steeled themselves; they clung to walls, streetlights, fences and each other.

Birdie's knuckles turned white as her fingers tightened around Crow's collar. She balanced her weight on the railing like a scale. Then she felt a tiny body bump into her legs.

And she slipped.

Crow's pupils dilated to the size of a pin's head, and his eyes grew wide. The pigment of his tan cheeks became a sickly shade of white and was coated in a thick layer of cold sweat. Instinctively, he flapped his wings to escape the danger, but the weary black feathers couldn't move.

Birdie intuitively cradled Crow close to her chest, holding him protectively in her arms. Her useless white wings curled against her shoulder blades as her back collided with the water's cold surface.

The harsh impact was like sharp needles piercing her skin, and it crushed her limbs. She felt Crow's small body slip away from her grasp, floating away into the misty light. Birdie cried out, but her agony was silenced by the river as a wave of murky water rushed into her mouth, clogging her throat.

Pain made her weak; she lost all her senses to that numbing pain.

Her body went limp. Birdie felt like a stone sinking deeper and deeper into darkness. The last thing she saw was a blurry red shadow before her vision went black.

Then suddenly light blinded her, and she ungracefully coughed up water, gasping for air.

Birdie slowly cracked open her eyes. The color red consumed her hazy vision, but when the watery film cleared, she didn't see _him_. Instead, the dove stared up at a tall and muscular man. He was crouched down beside her on the wet ground where she laid in a puddle of water.

It was another one of her neighbors: the Aquatic Hero, Shark. He was a local hero that patrolled the district, especially the long canal that transported cargo up and down the river everyday.

Water clung to the exposed skin of his tan chest; his black vest and red skin-tight pants were soaked. His long crimson hair was damp and pulled back into a tight ponytail. He hovered over her, his face inches away from hers. His hand cradled the back of her neck, supporting her head. A worried crease formed along his scarred brow, and his golden eyes inspected her closely. He opened his mouth, his sharp teeth peeking behind his moving lips. His deep voice was muffled and watery. The tone made her dizzy, her eyes lost focus, and that filled the aquatic hero's expression with more concern.

"—B—_Birdie!_"

Her name broke the barrier that sealed her ears.

"She's up! She's okay!"

"_Up! Up! Up!_"

Birdie weakly turned her head to the voices and she saw the children.

Chick was sobbing, large tears stained her rosy cheeks. The toddler's bright yellow tail feathers shuddered as she ran forward, collapsing onto the dove's chest. Ducky was behind the toddler, his brown wings dangling around his arms. He fell to his knees beside the dove. The grade schooler hiccuped, muttering soft apologizes under his breath as he quickly wiped his watery eyes. Crow stood off to the side, the middle schooler wringing the water out of his jacket. A blank expression clouded his features, but there was a rueful gleam in his dark eyes.

"I'm—I'm s—sorry, B—Birdie," Ducky cried. "It's m—my fault you f—fell. I d—didn't wanna bump into you. I'm s—sorry..."

Shark sighed, shaking his head slightly. "I told you it wasn't your fault, Ducky. No need to apologize or cry."

"So—sorry, Mister Shark, sir," Ducky sniffled as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

Shark sighed again, his shoulders dropping. Then he looked down at Birdie, smiling lightly. "Are you alright, Birdie? Ox will have my head if he knows you got in trouble on my watch..."

"I'm—" she coughed. "Not sure..." Birdie regained her senses, and the pain grew more intense. As the dove slowly rose from the puddle of water, her back cracked; it felt brittle and stiff at the same time. The uncomfortable feeling made her twitch. She sat up, but then she froze. A cold chill ran down her spine when she saw _him_.

_Hawks_.

The winged hero stood on the bridge's stone railing. His bright red wings were bristled, the feathers warped and contorted behind his back. The collar of his thick suede jacket was buttoned up and hid his mouth, but she could see the hollow look behind his visor. The darkness that crossed his amber eyes was familiar and unwelcome; the dove felt so helpless under the vicious glare.

Hawks leapt down from the railing, his large wings fluttering in the wind to soften his landing. The soles of his feet made small ripples in the puddle as he stalked over to the dove. The winged hero stood directly in front of her, his shadow engulfing her tiny form.

"No reason to sulk, Hawks," Shark chuckled dryly, scratching the back of his head in the awkward tension. "You can't save 'em all."

Hawks glowered at Shark, his glare razor sharp. If looks could kill, the aquatic hero would be six feet under already.

"Hey, hey, hey, easy now," Shark held up his hands in defense, a tiny bead of nervous sweat dripping down his scarred brow. "I know it came out harsh, but it's not a _bad_ thing. There are tons of heroes around, right? I mean, you took care of the cargo accident downstream while I saved Birdie. It's a win-win for everyone."

Hawks remained silent, but his red feathers trembled and twisted into stiff curls.

Shark groaned in annoyance at the winged hero's silent attitude. "So _this_ is what it's like to be a top-tier hero, huh? Holding up a status quo and a fancy little title..." the aquatic hero trailed off with a shake of his head. Then he sternly glared at the winged hero. "You can try and do all that, but it might be hard when _water_ gets in the way."

Hawks' brow knotted together and he glanced away, growling under his breath.

Birdie shifted, restless. The dove held Chick closer to her chest, hugging the tiny toddler in an anxious squeeze. Birdie eyed the winged hero, and then leaned over to the aquatic hero with a quiet warning: "Don't...provoke him..."

"..."

Birdie flinched when she felt the winged hero's dark scowl target her. It was a familiar feeling; it still made her uneasy.

"I'm not trying to provoke him," Shark countered. "This is basic heroics knowledge, Birdie. Every hero has a weakness, it's unavoidable, but that's where other heroes come in. We have to help each other to save the day." Then Shark stood up slowly, brushing away the tiny cement pebbles clinging to his damp pants. "Sometimes certain heroes are well-suited for certain tasks while others are not. Like a bird is good for the sky and a fish is good for the water, _right?_"

Shark emphasized the last word and he looked at Hawks, a witting smile on his lips. The aquatic hero expected the winged hero to agree, and he waited patiently for an reply.

Hawks' response was spreading his bright red wings out wide and flying off, leaving a rough gush of wind swirling on the ground.

Shark shielded his eyes with an arm as his long locks of ginger hair whipped against his face. "Wow..." the aquatic hero grumbled when the wind settled down. He looked up at the sky, a tiny speck of red growing smaller and smaller against the white clouds. "What a pretentious prick."

"It's 'cause you're mean," Ducky was blunt.

"_Meanie,_" Chick agreed with a nod. "Meanie, meanie, meanie."

"Total dick," Crow added. "My sister says it's your fatal flaw."

Shark's eyes opened wide, and his jaw fell open. He stared at the children, stunned into silence. Then he quickly shook his head and scowled at the children, snapping: "Weren't you lot just balling your eyes out a moment ago?"

Ducky planted his hands on his hips and then he comically stuck his tongue out at the aquatic hero.

Chick huffed and turned her nose to the sky, her yellow tail feathers quivering in irritation.

Crow groaned loudly and he rolled his eyes as he pulled his hood over his head.

"Kids these days..." Shark massaged his temple. "They have no respect for anyone. They just don't, don't they, Birdie?"

Birdie merely chuckled and sheepishly scratched the side of her cheek.

"I just don't get 'em sometimes," Shark continued. "Especially that Hawks, like what the hell? I get a call 'bout an accident on the canal because of some bad cargo mixup. Then on my way I get _another_ call that it's already handled. That's when I noticed the stupid bird circling helplessly above the water where you fell in." Shark scratched the back of his head, a perplexed expression on his scarred features. "Well, whatever," he shrugged. "Everything worked out for the best in the end," and then the aquatic hero held out his hand for the dove.

Birdie gladly accepted, and the aquatic hero helped pull her up onto her feet. Then she flinched. The tiny bud of pain grew deeper, weaving like a thorny vine along her skin and pierced through her muscles. She tried her best to mask it, but her attempt was futile.

"B—_Birdie?!_" Ducky gasped, his eyes snapping open wide. "Y—You're back! It's all red! Like nasty, nasty lookin' red! I—Is it turning purple!?"

Chick pointed at the dove's bruised skin with her tiny finger. The toddler danced around, worriedly chanting: "_Rojo! Rojo!_ _Rojo!_"

Shark frowned. The aquatic hero placed a hand on Birdie's shoulder and gently turned her around. He inspected her injury, and his expression contorted in agony as he hissed. "You, uh, might need to get that checked out, Birdie. I can cover the doctor's fee if you're worried about money. I know you'll pay me back when you can."

"No, no, no." Birdie shook her head. "I'm alright. It's nothing I can't power through. I mean this little thing is nothing. It's barely a scratch!" She forced a smile on her lips, and her little white wings fluttered shakily. The action made the skin of her back tingle with sharp prickles that made her eyebrow twitch.

Shark's brows furrowed in concern. "But—"

Birdie continued to smile, but a worried gleam simmered in her emerald eyes. She shook her head quickly, signaling for the aquatic hero to remain silent.

Shark stared at her, tilting his head in confusion. When Birdie jerked her head to the side, Shark's eyes followed and then opened wide. "...A—Ah..."

Crow's skin lost all color; he looked whiter than freshly fallen snow. The middle schooler trembled as he stared at Birdie's back. "That...That was my—my fault, isn't it?" Crow stuttered, hugging his arms tightly. His fingers dug into the wet fabric of his black jacket, turning his knuckles stark white.

"N—No, it ain't, kiddo!" Shark waved his hands wildly, a nervous bead of sweat on his brow. "It was just a little accident!"

Crow's breath was shallow. "B—Birdie got hurt 'cause of m—me. If—If I had j—just listened—"

Birdie quickly crouched down so she was eye level with Crow. "I'm okay, Crow," she told him firmly. "I'm just happy you're alright. That's what it means to be a hero, right? You worry more about others than yourself."

"She's right, Crow." Shark interjected with a coy smirk. "Take this as a lesson, not as a mistake. Next time, you'll be saving, Birdie."

"_Mm-hmm,_" Birdie hummed, smiling wryly. "With the amount of trouble I've gotten in over the last few days, you'll be saving me in no time, Crow."

Crow's trembles ceased, but there was still a worried look plastered on his face. "But you still got hurt 'cause of me..."

Birdie smiled gently and placed her hands on his shoulders, squeezing them in reassurance. "It's nothing. Just a little rash that'll clear up in a few hours, don't worry."

Crow looked up at her, the color slowly returning to his cheeks. "R—Really?" But there was still skepticism in his voice.

"Of course," she sweetly lied. "I'll be fine in no time. Right, Shark?"

"...Right," Shark nodded slowly.

Birdie was glad that Shark played along; it was a tiny white lie. All she wanted was to calm down Crow, even though she knew how bad her injury would get.

"_Holy crap, Birdie!_" Canary covered her mouth, but she couldn't hide the horror in her green eyes. "_Your back is pitch black!_"

Fox's jaw fell to the floor. "W—W—W—!" He stuttered violently at the sight. "W—What the hell happened!?"

The redness on the dove's exposed shoulder blades darkened to painful shades of black and blue. Her back felt stiff, numbing to the point where it hurt to breathe. She couldn't even move her little white wings without a sharp stab of agony.

Birdie knew it was unavoidable to try and hide it, so her coworkers noticed right away. Though, she put on a smile to mask her misery. "I got into a teeny-tiny accident on the way to work..." she chuckled lightly as she held her thumb and forefinger close together and stared through the thin gap.

"_Again!?_" Canary gawked. "How did it even happened?! I—I thought..." and she trailed off, pursing her lips into a sharp line.

"It's was only a little tumble," Birdie replied, and she nonchalantly waved aside Canary's concern. "I'll be right as rain in a day or two."

Canary's eyes snapped open wide and she started to tremble. "You should have been taken to a hospital!" She shrieked, and her cheeks boiled into a bright red hue. "The last place in the world you should be is here at work!"

Birdie took a tiny step back with her hands up in defense. "I know it looks bad, and I'll admit it does feel horrible, but I have no broken bones and my wings are a-okay," and the dove's wings lightly fluttered to prove her point. Though she winced, but then masked it with a smile. "You know what they say: no pain no gain."

Canary glowered at the dove for a hot moment before quickly pivoting on her heel. "Excuse me," she muttered under her breath and then she exited the backroom through the kitchen.

Fox's fuzzy red ears drooped as he ran his hand through his curly brown locks. "Damn it, Birdie..." Fox sighed heavily, his bushy tail flickering back and forth slowly. "You and your dark humor needs to stop. Canary and I are worried about you. _Worried_. Your jokes aren't making the situation better."

"I—It was different this time," Birdie stuttered. "I actually am in good spirits despite the pain, honest!"

Fox sent her an exasperated look. "Come on, Birdie."

"Honest!" Birdie vowed as she placed one hand over her heart and held up the other. Then she lowered her hands and clasped them together at her chest as a faint smile crossed her lips. "I may have gotten hurt, but it was better that I got this bruise rather than someone else."

Fox's brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean? Seriously, Birdie. What happened?"

Birdie's grin widened. "Let's just say I helped save a tiny life today, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Fox stared at her in disbelief for a moment, but then the shock settled down on his features. He sighed and smiled softly as he placed a hand on her cheek. "As long as you're okay, then there's nothing to worry about, right?"

"Right," Birdie chirped, covering his hand with hers.

Then the tranquil mood was disturbed by loud footsteps from the kitchen. Fox quickly leapt back, creating distance between them as Manager Wolfe walked into the backroom, a curious gleam in his beady black eyes.

"I just saw Canary on the phone and she looked rather unsettled. What happened back here—_Birdie?_" The manager's eyes opened wide. "What in the world happened to your back?"

"She—She got into another accident, sir." Fox replied, and he fidgeted back and forth on his heels. "It was just a small one and she's fine. M—Mentally, at least."

Manager Wolfe eyed Fox blankly, a hollow look in his dark eyes. The prolonged silence started to simmer with an awkward tension. Then the manager stalked over and peered at the dove's back, inspecting the damaged skin. "She'll be fine," he concluded and then he briskly walked away.

Birdie felt a bead of sweat on her brow. "I guess that's his way of saying I did the right thing, I guess?" and she shrugged.

Fox exhaled sharply as he placed a hand over his heart. "I thought he was going to get mad like last time..."

"Looks like you were saved today, too," Birdie giggled lightly.

Fox glanced away and scratched the back of his head. "Oh, you have no idea..."

Birdie cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"It's nothing," Fox cast aside her question with a wave of his hand. "We need to hurry up, the restaurant's going to open soon. So, get changed, Birdie."

Birdie nodded and did as she was told when Fox left the room. In the back of her mind, Birdie dreaded the idea of removing her clothes and she felt the misery grow when she lifted her arms. She struggled to reach around her back, but then a small hand grabbed the zipper of her dress.

"Here, let me help, Birdie," Canary whispered softly over her shoulder. "You should keep movement to a minimum."

Birdie remained still and allowed Canary to help take off her dress and then put on her uniform. It was the one time she was okay being treated like a porcelain doll.

"Thanks," Birdie sighed as she finished buttoning up her white blouse. "And sorry for causing trouble. It's just been one heck of a week."

Canary was silent as she tied the dove's green apron securely around her waist. Then a loud hum snared Canary's attention, and she pulled her phone out of her apron. There was a long string of soft beeps that made it vibrate in her hand. She swiftly tapped away at the screen with her thumb before pocketing her phone with an irritated grunt.

"Looks like I'm not the only one having a rough morning, huh?" Birdie chuckled lightly, trying to divert the topic. "I wonder if we both got out the wrong side of bed. Even the small of things will tick off Karma it seems."

"Please stop it, Birdie," Canary was blunt. Her green eyes were brimming with rage. "I am so livid that all I can do is yell," then she paused. "Via caps lock."

Birdie frowned, and she slowly reached for her tiny white wing. "I...I'm sorry," and she started to pluck loose feathers. "I really wasn't trying to make light of the situation, but I'm okay. In pain, but okay."

Canary sighed, her shoulders dropping. "And I'm sorry for snapping at you like that. I just got so upset at the situation that I exploded. It's just so irritating that I can't stand it! _Ugh!_" Canary balled her hands into tight fists and then gently knocked the sides of her head in frustration.

Birdie felt a bead of sweat on her brow. "Calm down," she reached out to grab Canary's wrists. "Don't hurt yourself over something that happened to me. You're acting like it's your fault."

Canary hung her head low and muttered under her breath: "I feel so guilty about it all..."

Birdie's eyebrows furrowed into a tight knot, and she let go of Canary then took a cautious step back.

Then Canary's head snapped up and she closed her eyes, yelling to the ceiling: "_I can't stand seeing cute girls in pain! I just want to help, but I can't!_"

Birdie felt multiple little beads of sweat drip down her brow and cheeks. "Oh dear..." she didn't know how else to reply to that.

Canary planted her hands on her hips and huffed, a relieved look on her face. "Wow, it really felt good screaming that to the heavens," she blushed.

"I'm glad you're feeling better..." Birdie mumbled, sheepishly scratching the side of her cheek.

Then Fox peeked his head around the corner from the kitchen, a curious gleam in his brown eyes. "Um, are you okay, Canary?"

"_Yes!_" Canary chirped, her bright yellow wings fluttering happily behind her back. "I'm powered up and ready to go!" And then she marched passed Fox, aggressively punching the air as she headed towards the dining area.

Fox watched Canary leave, puzzled.

He sent Birdie a worried look, but Birdie merely shrugged. Then they followed their eager coworker and got to work.

Luckily, Birdie's position as a hostess didn't work her to the bone. If she was still a server, she was certain the day would have been her worst on record. Though, patrons did give her perplexed glares when they entered and saw her stiff smile and sweaty brow, but Birdie endured until the end.

"How's your back feeling, Birdie?" Fox asked as they stepped out from the side alley and onto the wide sidewalk.

"Stiffer than a board, but I'll live, even if it means waddling like a penguin." Birdie replied as she massaged her sore shoulder. "I'll get a big ol' plastic bag and fill it with ice when I get home."

"That's good, that's good," Fox nodded.

"_Mm-hmm,_" Birdie hummed with a tiny grin. "Good thing I usually sleep on my tummy anyway."

Fox didn't reply right away. He held the small length of silence as he scratched the back of his head in thought. Then he continued. "It'll, _uh_, it'll be a long way home, huh?"

"I did it once, I can do it again," Birdie replied, her small wings fluttering proudly against her numb shoulder blades. Then she flexed her arm, and patted her small muscle. "I needed to be strong for the kiddos. I didn't need them to worry about me."

"So, you decide to worry everyone else," Fox mused. "Oh, Birdie, how could you?"

Birdie puffed out her cheeks. "Quiet you," and she gently shoved him aside. "Don't be a butt."

Fox laughed as he slipped back close to her side. Then he placed a hand on her head, his fingers running through her ivory curls. "Just don't over do it, Birdie."

"Who do you take me for? Of course, I won't! It might be hard to tell, but I _do_ know my limits. It's why I can be such a hard worker despite such difficult obstacles I might face."

"_Uh-huh_, you had me fooled."

"I do! Come on, Fox. Do you really think I wouldn't go to the hospital if I needed to?"

"Do you, _uh_, want me to really answer that?"

"You really _are_ being a butt right now!"

Fox heartily laughed when Birdie jabbed him in the side with her elbow. When he saw her pout and shuffle away from him, he calmed down. "Jokes aside," and he started to move toward her. "Do you want—?"

Fox was cut off when a sudden flash of red appeared between them. A flurry of crimson feathers swirled around the dove like a whirlwind, and loud whispers arose from the stalled crowd at the rare sight.

"Woah! Hey, what the hell—!" Fox's startled tone carried over the rustle of feathers, but his image was obscured by a wall of brilliant red.

Birdie stared, dumbfounded, like a deer caught in headlights.

"Good evening, Birdie." Hawks stood before her, leaning forward with his hands behind his back. His wings were spread out wide, the feather stirring zealously. Above his buttoned collar was a cheery expression: his eyes closed tightly and his eyebrows perked high on his brow.

Birdie was silent, frozen in his presence. She felt a million eyes locked onto them, awestruck in the glory of the nation's No. 2 Hero on the ground, and the dark night was lit up by the flash of cameras and phones. Birdie hugged her arms and laid her tiny white wings flush against her bare back, barely covering the damaged skin.

Hawks eyes open just a small sliver, revealing warm amber irises; they were filled with life unlike the emptiness she had witnessed again that morning.

"Here," Hawks swiftly unbuttoned his jacket and he pulled out a bundle of white wool from the large inner pocket. "I bought you a little something."

Then he unfold the fabric to reveal a small cardigan. Hawks draped it around her shoulders, and her little wings popped out the seamless holes in the back.

"There," Hawks cooed softly as he gently tugged on the cardigan's collar so it fit snugly on her shoulders. "I thought it might make you feel a little bit more comfortable, yeah?"

"...O—Oh," Birdie shifted on her heels. She couldn't ignore the whispers; the curious, curious whispers of the crowd close by.

Soon the whispers bloomed into questions, loud prying questions that turned the sidewalk into a stage for an interview. The bystanders asked Hawks private questions that made Birdie restless and embarrassed. They _demanded_ to know about the curious interaction. Birdie clutched the wool fabric of the cardigan, pulling it close to her body like a protective shield.

Hawks straightened his back, his red wings flapping angrily behind his back as he looked to the crowd. Though, his expression was kind and his tone was humorous. With a few witty remarks and a charming grin, he was able to please the crowd and get them to disperse in the blink of an eye. They put away their cameras and phones, and continued on their way.

"Better?" Hawks inquired, looking back to her with a small smile. "I didn't mean to cause a scene, and I hope you don't mind a bit of fame. It'll happen since I told them I was doing a little favor for a friend, but it'll probably fade in a few days. So, don't worry, alright?"

"R—Right. Thank you," she mumbled and bowed her head. "As for this," and she fiddled with the soft wool fabric. "You didn't have—"

"Of course I didn't _have_ to," Hawks cut her off. "But I _wanted_ to," and he winked. Then he continued on before she had a chance to respond. "So, want me to take you home? It'll only take a second, but maybe you're hungry? I know this little place that makes the _best_ mizutaki. It's outside the city limits though, if you don't mind flying to it. Oh! Maybe you wanna just take a late night flight? The ocean looks beautiful at night, y'know? The reflection of the city on the water is freakin' amazing! There's also this boardwalk I've flown over a few times. It seems pretty cool—"

Birdie blinked, trying to keep up with the hero's pace.

Hawks spoke rapidly, eagerly jumping from one suggestion to another. He rattled on and on, counting out each idea on his gloved fingers. There was an excited pink blush that graced his cheeks, and his large red wings happily fanned in and out to create a tiny gust of wind.

Birdie cast aside the hero's oral train of thought and only focused on his offer to take her home. Logically, hitching a ride with Hawks would be good on her bruised back. However, Birdie couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that grew in her stomach. Hawks could be so kind, sweet to the touch, but too much sweetness was hard to swallow. That sweetness didn't blend with the bitterness left behind in his fits of silent rage. Those moments paralyzed her with anxiety because she never knew what caused his anger.

It was a vicious cycle she couldn't keep up with. He would be kind, then angry, then kind again with no explanation in between. Birdie just couldn't be alone with Hawks or else her mind would just break.

"N—No thank you!" Birdie finally spoke up, quickly shaking her head and waving her hands in defense.

Hawks' joyful expression shattered like glass hit with a hammer. He frowned, the sadness piercing deep into his amber eyes, and his red wings drooped with disappointment.

Birdie felt a small pang of guilt that made her heart thump against her chest. "I—I just don't want to take up anymore of your time," Birdie clarified, but she couldn't help taking a tiny step back. "I appreciate the cardigan, but I'm sure you need to patrol—"

Hawks wings perked up, and the crestfallen expression on his features lifted. A small smirk spread across his lips. "What did I tell you last night?" He mused, leaning in close. "I could make time if it was for you, Birdie."

Birdie tried to take another step back, but she felt a wall of stiff feathers block her path. From the corner of her eye she saw that vivid shade of red and she gulped.

"—_Hey!_ Hey, wait a minute!"

Birdie heard Fox's voice once more. Fox's tone was sharp and firm as his hand clasped onto Hawks' shoulder, forcing the hero back. Hawks' presence was so consuming that it demanded attention, and Birdie just realized that Fox had been trying to speak the entire time. She sighed in relief, but then instantly sealed her lips when she saw that hollow look in the hero's amber eyes.

"I'm sorry, but you can't just swoop in like that," Fox snapped, shoving aside the red wings that blocked his path and he stood beside Birdie

"I just did," Hawks was blunt.

Fox paused for a moment, observing the hero carefully before continuing. "Excuse me for the outburst, sir," Fox apologized and politely bowed his head. "I was just startled. You came out from nowhere practically."

"I see," Hawks was short.

"I know you've helped Birdie out a lot this week," Fox added, grinning sweetly. "I appreciate that greatly. Birdie is a very important person to me, you see, which is why I'd like if you gave her a little space."

Hawks was silent. His red feathers bristled and he purposefully took two steps closer to Birdie, his wing wrapping around her tiny form.

Birdie yelped when the stiff feathers nudged her away from Fox and closer to Hawks' side.

Fox remained calm, his award-winning smile never faltering. "Sir, I know she's a sweet girl, but please try and respect her personal space. Your..._advances_ are clearly making her uncomfortable."

"..."

Birdie looked between the two men. Hawks was silent, but a dark shadow crossed his eyes and his red feathers contorted into sharp curls. Fox was beaming, radiating an aura of friendly professionalism in the wake of a furious adversary. Birdie wanted to break the tension, but her throat was dry and she didn't want to croak.

It was Canary's sweet voice that carelessly broke the mood when she emerged from the side alley.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" Canary huffed, jogging out from the side alley. "I didn't think it'd take so long to reorganize the—_oh my!_" She gasped, her green eyes growing wide in shock and she used both hands to cover her gaping mouth. "It's you—I mean, it's Hawks! W—What are _you_ doing here?"

The hollow look in Hawks' eyes flickered with life, and the hero closed the distance between himself and Birdie. He nestled in close to her side and grabbed her hand, weaving his gloved fingers between her tiny ones. "Taking my pretty birdy away."

Birdie's eyes snapped open wide. "Y—_Your_ birdy?" She stuttered, instinctively pulling away from his grip, but the hero kept her locked in place.

Fox's calm expression started to crack. His eyebrows furrowed and he frowned. "Wait just a sec—"

"That—That sounds like an outstanding idea!" Canary excitedly grinned, and she clasped her hands together while her large yellow wings happily flittered behind her back.

Fox's cool broke and he glared at Canary. "That's _not_ a good idea."

"Yes, it is!" Canary protested, eyeing Fox bitterly. Then she looked to Birdie, sweetness in her expression. "I mean, it would be good for your back! Yeah, yeah?"

"W—Well, yes," Birdie meekly agreed, but she still continued to try and pull her hand from Hawks'. "I—It would probably help, bu—"

"It's settled then," Hawks interrupted with a sly smirk.

Hawks swiftly grabbed Birdie, pulling her chest to his. He slipped his arms around her waist, then with two large flaps of his large red wings, he took off into the night.

Birdie's nails clung to the thick material of the hero's jacket. She was bewildered and confused. The wind rushed past her ears and through her hair as she watched the city streets shrink over his shoulder. Then panic pierced her heart.

"P—_Put me down!_" Birdie squealed, squirming in his grasp.

Hawks glanced at her from the corner of his eye, amused, and he coolly joked: "But we're at least 600 meters high in the sky, Birdie."

Birdie was not amused, and she beat the sides of her fists against his shoulders. "P—_Please, just put me down!_"

"Well," Hawks huffed, unaffected by her fit. "If you say so."

For a split moment, a horrifying thought crossed Birdie's mind. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck when the image of the hero letting her go mid-flight flashed before her eyes; all in the name to cruelly entertain his joke.

But he didn't.

Hawks held her even closer as he reared off course to a nearby skyscraper. The hero gently landed on the short stone railing, the soles of his shoes making the faintest _tap_ against the cement. His red wings fidgeted against the wind as he carefully let her go. He made sure her feet were securely placed on the rooftop before he released her from his hold. But his hand smoothly slid down the length of her arm, and it stopped to hold her hand.

"You don't look so good..." Hawks frowned.

Birdie's skin was a sickly shade of white, and her heart wildly thumped against her chest. She didn't know why she panicked. She knew being alone with Hawks caused her anxiety because of his bittersweet personality, but not enough to distill a sense of _fear_. She shouldn't feel scared of a hero, but her rapid heart-rate told her differently.

"Did I hurt your back?" Hawks continued, the concern rising in his tone. "I was trying to be conscientious about that. Was I not gentle enough? Or did the wind cause too much pressure? It was a bit of a speedy take off...I'm sorry if it hurt you, I really wasn't trying to hurt you. So, please tell me if you're okay..."

Birdie stared at him silently, which made the hero impatiently fidget. She saw the genuine concern in his expression. He restlessly bounced on the balls of his heels and the worried crease on his brow grew deeper with each second that ticked by.

Hawks really did care about her safety, which helped her calm down. Her heart rate stabilized and color returned to her cheeks.

"I'm okay," Birdie shakily pulled away from him, her hand easily slipping from his grasp. Then she shuffled backwards and held her arms tightly. She was calmer, but it didn't change the fact that being alone the hero still made her uneasy.

"Is it because of heights?" A ghost of a smile crossed Hawks' lips. "I didn't think you were afraid of heights," he chuckled lightly. "You seemed okay in the past. Is it just because of our emergency roost? I know the building is pretty tall and we're super high up, but you shouldn't be worried about that. I won't let you fall. I promise."

Then he held out his hand.

Birdie stared at it blankly, like it was a foreign object.

Hawks' arm recoiled.

"Are you okay?" Hawks frowned, stepping down from the railing and he went to her side. "Birdie, what's wrong? Are you feeling sick?" He placed a hand to her forehead, but the action was fruitless with his gloves on. Yet, it didn't dissuade him, and he continued. "Do you want me to take you to the hospital? Honestly, we need to have a professional look at your back. You might not feel anything wrong, aside from having a giant bruise, but your wings could have been damaged and you just don't realize it yet. You _should_ have been taken to a hospital this morning," then a dark shadow crossed his eyes. "What a rookie mistake..."

There it was; his expression that caused the unsettling feeling. It boiled in her stomach. Birdie winced when she saw that hollow look reappear in his eyes, and her reaction seemed to break the hero's trance. The emptiness filled with life, the blank look swarming with concern.

"It must really hurt..." Hawks whispered as he gingerly brushed her long bangs aside, tucking the ivory curls behind her ear and his hand lingered on her cheek. "If only I got there sooner...you wouldn't have gotten hurt. I don't want to see you get hurt. I really can't stand it."

The tension made Birdie retreat. She stepped away from him, hugging her arms until the skin of her knuckles matched the wool of her cardigan. "I feel sick."

Hawks' hand fell to his side, and a sad frown came to his lips. "I'll take you home then. Unless you want me to take you to the hospital. I'm fine with either, but would prefer the hospital..."

"I'm tired..." Birdie meekly replied. "I just want to sleep."

"You can spend the night at the hospital, too." Hawks countered.

"In the comfort of my _own_ bed." Birdie retorted.

"Fair enough," Hawks chuckled.

Then he leapt back onto the stone railing, his red wings fanning out wide. He pivoted on his heel and offered her his hand.

Birdie stared at it for a moment, and hesitantly accepted. Hawks bittersweet personality was hard to handle. It's unpredictability made her uncomfortable, but he was still a hero. He was trained to serve and help the people. Despite his fickle mood swings, he cared about her safety. She had to remember that.

Hawks was beaming when she took his hand and he eagerly helped her onto the stone railing. "Just say the word," and his wings stirred restlessly. "And I'll take you home."

Birdie inhaled and exhaled, calming her nerves for the flight home, but Hawks' actions didn't help.

The hero stood before her, happily humming as he grabbed her other hand and held them both. He gently swung their arms to and fro, the hero patiently waiting for her command. Then his eyes flickered when he caught her staring and his cheerful expression wavered. His head cocked to the side, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes before he suddenly sent her a coy smile. He leaned in close, his eyes drawing her in. The amber pools were so alluring that she didn't realize how close he was until she felt the tip of his nose touch hers.

Birdie's brain processed the action slowly like an old computer. Once the download was complete, her face turned red when a romantic atmosphere booted up. Alone at night, high in the sky with no interruptions from the outside world. There was even romantic music playing on the jumbo television screen mounted on the building across the street. The jazzy melody of _Kiss the Girl_ made Birdie sweat bullets. This was the hero's sweetness she couldn't swallow, but Hawks didn't seem deterred. The hero closed his eyes and leaned in, his breath brushing against her lips.

Birdie shut her eyes tightly, pursed her lips together, and turned her head away slightly. She trembled as she waited, and she quietly squeaked when he gently kissed the corner of her stiff lips.

"...You're not supposed to be the shy one," Hawks whispered against her skin. "I was the one challenged by some lyrics."

Birdie felt dizzy. Her world was spinning. Her face was hot and her knees buckled. If Hawks hadn't wrapped his arms around her waist, she would have fallen.

_Oh my. Oh my god. Oooh my god._ She had trouble focusing on anything but the pair of lips that lingered on her crimson stained cheek. _What do I do? What do I do, Birdie?! I have no idea what to do! Tell him to stop, Birdie!_

Birdie tried to open her mouth, but the only sound to flutter past her lips was a tiny squeak. Her pitiful attempt to speak made Hawks chuckle.

_Oooooh no! It didn't work! Then push him away, Birdie! But he's being so forceful he'll never let me go! Just try!_

Birdie pressed her shaky hands against the hero's chest, trying to create distance.

Hawks shuffled back, giving her space, and there was an apologetic look in his eyes. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Is it alright if I hold your hands still? I want to make sure you're secure," and he squeezed her hands. "We are still pretty high up."

_Oh_.

Her inner turmoil paused.

Birdie glanced over the edge of the building and saw just how high up they were, but she didn't feel scared. Despite what the hero had thought, the dove wasn't scared of heights. She may have tiny, flightless wings, but she still had a little bird in her. It felt natural to be up so high and see the world from a bird's eye view. Then she looked back at him, smiling meekly. "Thank you…" She did appreciate that he respected her when she didn't like something.

Hawks bright red wings fluttered in excitement and leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes, a faint, but happy, smile on his face. The hero was still close, but she could breathe again. He _did_ make it clear time and time again that he wanted to keep her safe. Yet, she couldn't ignore it: that unsettling feeling that nagged her. It made her frown. Something was wrong, and it wasn't because of his flirtatious advances. She didn't know what it was and that uncertainty is what made her nervous.

"—_Now onto the breaking news about the Small Time Aquatic Hero Shark that has a loaded past_."

Then reality rooted in.

She shoved her hands into Hawks' face, making him grunt. Her hands covered his mouth and Hawks glared over her fingers in disappointment, but Birdie's attention was trained on the jumbo television that played the late evening news.

"_The new hero made waves this afternoon, but not in the way any hero wants. At 2:30 sharp, the Aquatic Hero Shark was taken from the Pacific Tide Agency by authorities to the police station due to an anonymous tip that sparked a nation-wide controversy. Officials tried to withhold the information from the public, but there was a leak that claimed Shark has a criminal past: he was the villain that caused the Black Pillar Incident at Holly Bay twelve years ago. The Black Pillar Incident was declared a tragic accident that killed five innocent lives, but in truth they were assassinated by the young hero. No one knew of his crimes, until today. The public is outraged to hear that a murderous and violent villain slipped through the cracks and became a hero—_"

"That's just sad."

Birdie looked up at Hawks. Her eyes were wide and her breath was shallow.

"To hear that a hero is actually a villain. It's just sad to see he was really a monster, y'know?"

His tone was laced with disappointment, but the expression on his features made her tense. His eyes were lifeless, two hollow voids of emptiness, and there was a faint smirk plastered on his lips. It almost seemed like Hawks was _pleased_ by the report.

Birdie's froze, that feeling of uncertainty morphing into something tangible. It was something she could see, and she was terrified of the creature crawling from the shadows. "W—What?"

"Villains _are_ monsters," Hawks was blunt. "They need to be dealt with..._accordingly_, but don't worry, Birdie," and he sent her a cool smirk. "That's something you won't have to worry about anymore. I promise."

Birdie trembled, unsure of how to respond.

Hawks' arms slithered around her, his grip constricting her to his chest, and he whispered gently in her ear. "_I promise,_" then with two mighty flaps of his red wings, he took flight into the night sky.

Birdie yelped, forced to cling to his shoulders once more. She felt like a prisoner trapped in his arms, caged by his embrace with no escape until he wanted to let her go.


	5. Episode 1: Hunger, Chapter V

**Birds of a Feather**

**Episode 1: Hunger**

**Chapter**** V: August 6th**

_Thump-thump-thump_.

Birdie trudged down the steps from the third floor. It felt like heavy weights were tied around her feet. No, it felt like her entire body was an anchor sinking into the ocean; a worn piece of steel that had seen better days.

Birdie's ivory curls were a knotted mess and her bangs dangled over her eyes, but the frizzy strands of hair couldn't hide the large bags under her bloodshot eyes. Her little white wings drooped against her shoulders and loose feathers floated down to the floor with each step she took.

She felt drained. She had hours of empty sleep thanks to last night's events. It was an emotional roller coaster she couldn't process clearly. The bittersweet personality of Hawks was slowly chipping away at her sanity. She couldn't stop thinking about him. It came to the point that he was in her dreams, but his ethereal presence only caused nightmares. The charming sweetness he smothered her in. So aggressive to the point she couldn't do anything but bend to his will, even if she didn't enjoy his embrace. The bitter rage that struck fear into her heart. That dead look in his eyes that left his actions a mystery, a mystery she never wanted to unfold. His very being haunted her, but Birdie still tried to be logical for the sake of her sanity.

Hawks was a hero.

He would not hurt her.

While she felt like heroes shouldn't act in such a manner toward the people they rescued, her mind argued: he was only human and couldn't be perfect. He would have desires and animosity, just like Birdie herself. It could possibly be even stronger within a hero because heroes _shouldn't_ act like that as a public servant to the people they protect. Maybe he was clinging to those feelings since he can't experience them often, but she wondered why it had to be _her_.

Why did he focus on _her?_ He had saved thousands, if not millions, of lives before he ever met her. Maybe it was because she was a fellow bird. Birds of a feather do flock together. It was only a theory that he saw the two of them as a kindred spirits, but it was enough to calm her nerves.

"...no...it was..."

Birdie paused when she heard the faint voices drift into her ears. She only picked up on a few words that filtered through the second floor hallway.

"...couldn't have..."

"..._Hawks_..."

Birdie's blood went cold when she heard his name. A lump in her throat formed when she realized that a sense of paranoia seeped into her soul. Sticky, vile and deadly. It unsettled her that just the sound of his name instantly destroyed all the logic she worked to build up.

Slowly, she tiptoed to the open doorway and peeked around the corner. In the middle of the hallway she saw one of her neighbors speaking with two men from law enforcement.

The short woman stood outside the closed door of her apartment, still dressed in her pajamas; the white T-shirt and plaid plants were baggy and three times her size. Her long black hair was tied up in a messy bun atop her head, and strands of ebony curls dangled over her puffy brown eyes. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her large black wings stirred angrily, her feathers curling as she glared at the two officers.

Birdie recognized Officer Labrador, the man in blue standing quietly at attention behind his gruff companion.

The other man was tall and slim, but his figure looked bulky due to his long cream-colored trench coat. His canine face was covered in a layer of thick brown fur that had a black and grey tint. He looked like an old dog that had seen many harsh fights over his years in the force. There were multiple scars on his long snout, and a chuck flesh was missing from one of the large pointed ears at top of his head.

"—Miss Raven," the old dog's voice became clearer, his tone course like sandpaper. "We can't disclose that information."

"You don't need to disclose a single thing, Shepherd." Raven snapped, venom dripping from her tone. "I _know _Hawks is behind what happened to Shark. The same day my boyfriend pisses off the No. 2 Hero, he gets his life utterly destroyed. Coincidence? I think not."

"We are working on clarifying the issue, Miss Raven." Shepherd sighed heavily. "The public was never given the details surrounding the circumstances of the Black Pillar Incident," then he paused, eyeing Raven carefully. "Which is why we will need _your_ statement."

Raven was silent, the harsh expression lighten on her features. She turned away, a distance gleam in her brown eyes as she subconsciously rubbed the long scars that decorated the tan skin of her left arm like chicken wire. "...Right," she finally spoke, her tone tiny and soft. "I figured."

"I will give you time to think," Shepherd told her. "I understand this is still a private and personal matter for you and your family, but you can't hold anonymity if you want to help Shark."

"...Yeah, I know, I know," Raven sighed. "Thanks—" she abruptly stopped when her gaze focused on the end of the hall, and she scowled. "—_Birdie?_"

Birdie jumped, startled that she was caught. Then she bit her lip and emerged from behind the corner, raking her fingers through the white plumage of her wing. "...S—Sorry."

Raven's harsh glare melted quickly as she shook her head. "It's fine," she grumbled. "The whole building probably knows by now anyway. _Right, Lady Pride!_"

On cue, the door across the hall cracked open and a tall woman peeked through the opening. A flurry of chaotic sounds from mischievous children filtered through the crack, and the woman held back a tiny toddler that wanted to dart out the door. The woman was unfazed as her child chewed on the fabric of her green dress with his sharp teeth.

Her rounded ears twitched against her curly blonde hair, and the cat whiskers on her cheeks danced as she spoke. "I do it out of love, precious," the lioness clarified. "I'll bake you one of my famous chocolate cakes with peanut butter frosting. I know it's Crow's favorite."

"Thanks," Raven replied.

"Anytime, precious," Lady Pride smiled sweetly as she closed the door.

Then Raven looked back at Birdie with a stiff smile on her cracked lips. "See."

Birdie smiled sheepishly in return. "At least it's out of love and not for the gossip-gussy-rumor-mill-theatre."

Raven groaned and rolled her eyes. "Damn it, Birdie."

Birdie merely giggled as her little white wings happily flittered.

Shepherd then cleared his throat, but when he spoke, his voice was still as rough as it was before. "It's good to see you are in high spirits, Miss Birdie," he nodded toward the dove. "Though, I do hope you are feeling well. I heard you hurt your back."

"I—I, yes, I suppose I'm okay." Birdie stuttered. "It's not as bad as it was last night. I had ice on it all night, and, _um_, Raven actually had some ointment for bruises."

"It was Shark's," Raven clarified softly. "It's nothing fancy and it won't heal the skin faster like what other heroes can buy, but it gets the job done when it comes to pain relief. So, it's good you're wearing something to cover it, Birdie."

"...Right," Birdie nodded, tugging on the hem of her wool cardigan. She spent a good ten minutes deciding if she wanted to wear the wool cardigan or not, but it was the only thing she had to cover her back. All of her new dresses had open backs which exposed her bruise. She didn't want people to see and worry about her, especially Crow. However, Birdie still noticed something strange about Shepherd's comments. "H—Have we met, sir?"

"Ah," Shepherd's dark eyes opened wide. "Pardon me for being blunt before introducing myself. I am Detective G. Shepherd," he said with a short bow. "And I believe you are familiar with Officer Y. Labrador, correct?"

Officer Labrador tipped his hat toward Birdie and smiled kindly.

"You see," Detective Shepard continued. "We have been working on a few cases that you were unfortunately involved in. You have had quite the streak of bad luck, Miss Birdie."

"I'm still working things out with, Karma," Birdie smiled stiffly, plucking loose plumes from her little white wing.

Raven rolled her eyes. "Really, Birdie."

Detective Shepherd was silent as he sent a Officer Labrador a quick look before continuing. "It's a good thing Hawks was there to help you in your time of need."

Birdie's strained smile cracked. "Um, y—yes," and she held her little wing tightly. "It was very...lucky of me."

Detective Shepherd paused, his black eyes watching her closely. "...You seem rather familiar with him. It's not often I see him get so close to civilians. It's rather rare for him, as a matter of fact."

"_Tch,_" Raven interrupted with a loud snort. "More like he's not getting the hint."

Detective Shepherd sent Raven a perplexed look. "Pardon?"

Raven huffed as she leaned against the door to her home. "He's _waaaay_ too aggressive with his flirting." She explained. "He can't even tell Birdie wants him to back off. It's unbelievably ironic that the hero known for his observations skills is blind as a bat."

Birdie felt her cheeks flare up, burning a bright shade of pink. "P—People know about that?"

"I told you," Raven scoffed. "The whole building knows everything."

Again, the door across the hall creaked open and Lady Pride peeked her head out. "He's quite the handsome fellow, Birdie, but he does need to learn some manners on how to properly treat a lady."

"Maybe a good punch in the face would do it," Raven smirked darkly. "I would be more than happy to do so."

"_Raven_," Lady Pride sent her a stern glare. "You shouldn't say such things when the police are right there," and she motioned towards the two officers with a flick of her long tail.

"Yeah, yeah," Raven cast aside the warning with a flick of her wrist.

Lady Pride sighed in defeat as she closed her apartment door once more.

Birdie felt her entire face turn red; she forgot how closely knit the complex was.

Then Detective Shepherd cleared his voice again, but still his voice sounded like gravel. "You should speak up if he makes you uncomfortable, Miss Birdie," he advised the dove. "He won't stop unless you set boundaries."

"Y—Yes, I know," Birdie bowed, her white wings flickering wildly like her racing heart. "T—Thank you for the advice, sir."

"You're welcome," Detective Shepherd nodded. Then he looked between the two women, and said: "Have a good day, ladies," before turning on his heel to depart.

Officer Labrador quickly tipped his hat to the two women, bidding them a silent farewell and then hurried after the detective.

When the two men disappeared from sight, Birdie shuffled down the hall. She moved closer to Raven and wrapped her arms around the other woman. "How are you holding up?" Birdie whispered. "It must have been a rough night if you, of all people, were crying."

"You know I don't cry," Raven scoffed bitterly. "I'm not a crybaby birdy like you. It's so obvious you were the one sobbing all night long."

"Hey," Birdie grinned, her little white wings fanning out as wide as they could go. "I'm more of a funny birdy nowadays. I _purposefully_ have sleepless night so I look like a zombie for the day. Everyone stays clear if they see the walking dead. It's the best way to keep people at bay, eh?"

"Of course," Raven rolled her eyes, but a ghost of a smile came to her worn features. "You and that stupid sense of humor," then she rested her head against Birdie's and closed her eyes. "Sometimes it helps."

Birdie's smile softened and her grip on Raven tightened. "Shark will be okay," she reassured. "I'm sure of it."

Raven was silent, a pained look in her brown eyes. She pulled away from Birdie's embrace and hugged her arms until her knuckles went white. "...Only if I speak up," Raven replied weakly, and she subconsciously rubbed her scarred arm. "But I don't know if it will even help. After all that bullshit with those fucking villains that wanted to reform hero society, people are clinging to the ideal hero figure even more than ever. Most people in this world just don't want to understand that a person might do a bad thing to help someone they care about. Especially when it's for the greater good."

Birdie frowned, unsure of how to respond. She pursed her lips, taking a moment to organize her thoughts before continuing. "I think that's something everyone faces, Raven. The cases vary in size, but if the intentions were meant to be good, then it shouldn't be wrong, right?"

"The law argues against that, Birdie," Raven countered. "People aren't meant to be the judges, juries and executioners."

"But Shark was never prosecuted," Birdie pointed out. "I don't know the story, but like you said, the building _knows_ everything. Someone would have heard about him going to trial or possibly jail, but there was nothing. Not a thing. Yet...the police know what Shark did, so that means his intentions were good, but maybe how he went about them was..._different._"

Raven was silent for a moment, her brown eyes wide. Then a soft expression crossed her weary features. "True. That's very true, Birdie. Maybe I do have a small chance if I tell my story."

Birdie smiled. "Good luck, Raven. I know it won't be easy, but I'm on your side. Your's and Shark's."

"Thanks, Birdie," Raven sighed, a relieved smile on her lips. "Thank you."

Birdie stepped forward to give Raven one more hug, squeezing the other woman with as much comfort as she could muster. "If you ever need someone to watch Crow for the night, my door is open."

"It's okay," Raven returned the hug. "Swan is taking care of Crow for a few days while I sort out everything. Ducky was pretty happy to have him sleepover for so long, so I don't wanna burst the little guy's bubble."

"Alright, alright," Birdie giggled as she pulled away and turned on her heel, walking back to the stairwell.

"And Birdie," Raven suddenly called out.

Birdie turned back, her head cocked to the side in confusion.

There was a serious expression carved onto Raven's worn features. "My opinion about Hawks is really low at the moment. I'll admit, it's nonexistent, but I'll put my personal bias aside. Stay away from him if he's being a creep."

Birdie felt her stomach drop. She averted her gaze and frowned, grabbing her white wing. "...I'll try," and she started to pluck loose feathers.

"Don't _try_," Raven scowled. "If you don't like him, be honest and tell him how it is. I saw you two last night from the window. You did _not_ like how he was treating you. I could tell just by how you looked, and you know I can pick up on stuff like that because of a person's body language thanks to my job."

"H—How is work at the club, a—anyway?" Birdie inquired swiftly. "I hope clients aren't being scared off by your scar anymore."

"Don't change the subject," Raven snapped. The serious expression never faltered as she continued. "You wanted to runaway from him, didn't you?"

Birdie chuckled weakly. "It's hard to runaway from the guy that constantly saves me, _haha_..."

Raven held her gaze, her eyes critically sharp. "That's a dangerous way of thinking, Birdie."

Birdie paused, but then slowly nodded with a sad smile. "...Yeah," she whispered. "Yeah, I know."

Raven sighed and reached out to ruffle Birdie's messy ivory curls. "I'm on your side, too." She told the dove. "Call me if you need anything, okay? If he bothers you, I'll teach him a lesson. Or you can just knee him in the gut. He'll get the picture then."

Birdie bowed her head. "Thank you, Raven. And sorry—"

Raven gently whacked Birdie upside the head. "You know I hate when you say that, especially when you've done nothing wrong."

Birdie nursed the tiny bud of pain. "It's a force of habit at this point..."

"Yeah, yeah," Raven sighed. "I know, just take care, Birdie. You don't want to be late to work."

Then both woman bid each other a small goodbye and carried on their separate ways. Birdie hurried out of the Pink Palace, jogging lightly as she traveled down her normal route. She was already a few minutes late to work, but her pace slowed when she saw that fateful bridge. Anxiety festered in the pits of her stomach as she slowly shuffled across. Then she saw a flash of red from the corner of her eye.

Her heart started racing, pounding mercilessly against her chest. Her breath was shallow when her eyes darted to the crimson shade, but her nerves settled down. It was just Señorita Hen and Chick. The mother and child were out on an early morning walk, and the little toddler held a piece of white ribbon tied to a bright red balloon.

Birdie took a moment to collect her composure, taking a deep breath in and out. Then she continued on to the station. She stood restlessly on her heels, waiting for the train impatiently alongside the crowd. The platform was filled with people, the energy creating a loud murmur that echoed off the walls. The sounds were numbing, blending together in a long hum that drowned out her senses. Then the noises were muted when she felt something push against her back.

Her weight leaned forward and her eyes snapped open wide when the tracks got painfully closer. Then someone caught her arm just as a train zoomed by. From the corner of her eye, she saw it again: _red_. Birdie dared not look, but when a young feminine voice drifted over her shoulder, she turned to see a beautiful young woman with vibrant red hair. Birdie calmed her nerves, trying to mask her panic when the woman apologized profusely for bumping into her. With a bow, the woman skittered away when the next train came to a halt at the platform. Birdie took a deep breath in and out, then she continued on to work.

Birdie looked at her phone and saw she was even later to work. She didn't want to ruin her day anymore with lectures from her boss, so she started running. She skipped down a long set of narrow steps carved into a steep hillside. She was careful, but that didn't stop the unnatural feeling underneath her foot as she lost her balance.

She saw a flurry of red envelop her and she screamed in pure terror.

Then she was caught.

She was shaking, trying to choke back the tears as she waited to see his face.

But it never came.

Birdie took in her surroundings and saw that the red flurries were large pieces of paper. The force that supported her body belonged to three young men wearing soccer jerseys. The men were forced into twisted positions and they struggled to keep her cradled from harm. Then they slowly unraveled from the awkward pose. The men apologized frantically. Each one bowed repeatedly as they simultaneously filled their messenger bags with loose red flyers scattered across the steps. Birdie had trouble masking her panic, but the men didn't find her tears abnormal. They tried to comfort her. They told her not to be afraid, that she was fine, that they couldn't express how sorry they were.

Birdie just weakly smiled, and said: "I'll be okay," but she was anything but that.

The color red was tormenting her.

When she saw the color red, it felt like her heart would pop. Every little nudge, every small shove, every tiny trip; it felt like she saw the color red looming over her like a hungry beast. It was everywhere. It was consuming her mind. She couldn't take the madness anymore and she sprinted to work as fast as her legs could carry her.

She burst through the employee entrance door, completely out of breath.

Fox jumped when the door hit the wall so harshly. His fuzzy tail stiffened and his red ears perked straight up. He nearly dropped the box of bottled tea he was carrying. He balanced the shaky load, a bead of sweat on his cheek. Then he glanced over his shoulder, a worried gleam in his brown eyes, but it was quickly replaced with relief.

"Hey, Birdie," he greeted her as he finished his task, placing the crate on the counter. "You're pretty late today. Manager Wolfe already—" and then he choked on his words when he faced her and fully saw her condition. "_Ohmygod_, Birdie, are you okay?!"

Hearing the panic in Fox's voice, Canary burst from behind the folding screen. Her large yellow wings fanned out wide, making loose feathers fly throughout the backroom. There was a wild look in her green eyes, full of anxiety and fear. Nothing seemed to faze her, not even the fact that she was only halfway dressed in her uniform, revealing her lacy green bra and much of her pale skin.

"C—_Canary!_" Fox sharply turned away, his cheeks scalding hot.

Canary ignored her indecency. "B—_Birdie!_" She gasped loudly, rushing over to the dove. Canary held Birdie's cheeks in her hands, squishing the dove's cheeks together. Canary stared into Birdie's glossy emerald eyes, and she frowned as her thumbs wiped away the dove's salty tears. "Y—You look so _awful_...what on earth happened?"

"C—Canary...p—please get dressed..."

Again, Canary ignored her indecency.

"Come here, sweetie," she cooed, wrapping a protective arm around the dove's shoulders. "Lemme fix you right up."

Canary forced Birdie to sit down at the backroom table and then went to retrieve her purse. Canary slammed the heavy bag on the metal surface, making a _bang_ echo off the walls. Fox shuffled over and threw a white towel over Canary's shoulders, covering her exposed assets. Canary paid no attention and continued rooting through the contents of her purse, pulling out beauty products and other items.

Fox, on the other hand, sighed in relief. The pink blush melted from his cheeks as he sat down beside Birdie. He frowned as he grabbed her hand. "Please don't tell me you got into another accident on the way here..."

Birdie shook her head. "I—I just think I'm a tiny bit paranoid," She replied with a cracked grin. "I—I've had a rough week, with all the bad luck and all. Karma's still messing with me it seems…_ah-hahaha_…"

Fox's grip tightened around her hand.

"I—I'm sure I'll be okay in a few days," Birdie tried to reassure him. "I—I was just caught off guard today! That's all! I—If my days go smoothly, I'm sure it'll be okay! I—I think…" her positivity lost momentum and her true feelings were showing.

Her skin was losing pigment quickly, draining away into nothing but a sickly shade of white. The forced smile on her lips broke, dropping into a deep frown. She started to hiccup as small tears slipped down her stained cheeks. She tried to control her shaking by squeezing Fox's large hand with both of hers, the pressure making his tan skin turn white and red. Fox stroked her hair with his free hand, his fingers running through her messy ivory curls, and Birdie closed her eyes. His warmth helped calm her nerves, it always helped; she would admit that his touch always had that effect on her.

"I—It hasn't gotten better?" Canary finally spoke up, her nervous tone matching the wild beat of her flapping yellow wings. Canary fiddled with a small hairbrush, her thumb running over the stiff bristles. There was a thoughtful crease on her brow, but then her eyes lit up as a lightbulb dinged above her head. "M—Maybe you should ask try asking Hawks to pick you up from work and home from now on, yeah, yeah?" She suggested eagerly, grinning from ear to ear. "You two seem totally close and I'm positive you'll be the absolute safest with him!"

Birdie's eyes snapped open wide. "N—_**No!**_" Then she flinched.

Canary and Fox both stared at her in shock, startled by the amount of fear clinging to her voice.

"I—I...I appreciate the idea," Birdie recoiled, softening her tone. "But I don't think that's a very good idea..."

"Yeah," Fox agreed with a nod, wrapping an arm around the dove's shoulder and he pulled her close to his side. "I mean, hanging around any hero while they are on patrol is dangerous. To be honest, it would explain why Birdie has gotten into so much trouble this week. He probably brought the danger to her."

"W—_What?!_" Canary squealed, her cheeks pale. "T—That's a crazy idea, Fox! How could you say that!? Hawks is a hero! A _hero!_"

"Calm down, Canary..." Fox held up a hand. "It's not like Hawks was doing it on purpose, but it's pretty clear he has a..._thing_ for Birdie. If he keeps hanging around her like this, she could end up in even more trouble than ever." Then he glanced away, sighing heavily. "And here I thought heroes aren't supposed to get too friendly with civilians..."

Suddenly a serious gleam flickered across Canary's green eyes. It was a cold, cold glare that made the room's temperature drop. "He's still human, Fox," Canary was blunt, her tone unforgiving. "You're acting like he has to distance himself from everyone out of fear that friends and family will be hurt."

Fox blinked, taken back by Canary's unusual attitude shift. Then he shook his head and glared back at her. "It doesn't change the fact that it's dangerous," he argued. "Hawks might have saved Birdie time and time again, but she's mentally worn out," and then Fox brushed aside Birdie's long bangs to the side, tucking them behind her ear. He frowned when he looked at her watery bloodshot eyes and red cheeks. "She's so…_scared_. If he keeps doing this to her, she might break from all the stress."

"...Maybe I am already broken." Birdie whispered, smiling sadly. "I don't know what to do. Not even my stupid jokes are helping. I'm sorry for worrying everyone."

"Maybe you should go home, Birdie," Fox advised. "You might need a full day of rest, possibly a few days. I can call Manager Wolfe right now. I'm sure he won't mind driving you home, you know he doesn't want you to be stressed."

Birdie hung her head. "...You know I can't do that."

Fox frowned. "...I know."

Canary's icy expression melted away, changing into a look of defeat. She pulled at the towel wrapped around her shoulders, hugging the soft material close to her body. "I'm sorry, Birdie." she mumbled, glancing toward the dove with a meek smile. "There isn't much I can do, but I can at least help clean you up so you feel confident as our lovely hostess."

Birdie smiled just as weakly in return. "Thank you."

"I'll leave you to your thing," Fox said as he rose from his seat. "I'll take care of opening. We should only have the usual early birds. I can easily handle that myself."

"Make Manager Wolfe proud," Canary teased.

"Oh, I will," Fox replied as he disappeared into the kitchen.

Canary merely chuckled before a small frown came to her lips. She was silent the remainder of the time as she took care of Birdie's roguish appearance. Canary covered Birdie's tear stained face with a layer of makeup, and she brushed away the knots in the dove's curly hair. Canary even took out a bright blue ribbon for Birdie's hair. The ribbon held back the dove's bangs like a headband, the neatly tied bow laying on the side of her head just above her ear.

When she looked in the mirror, Birdie looked a million times better than when she woke up. It did help her feel more confident, which canceled out a small slice of negativity from the morning. However, work was still a blur; neither good nor bad. Canary was more of a mess than Birdie was. Manager Wolfe had to scold Canary multiple times for texting on her phone at inappropriate times. Luckily, it didn't cause any real issues with customers. Unlike Birdie, Canary's mistakes were considered cute. Fox had checked on Birdie every hour to see how she was holding up. Birdie felt numb, but normal. As closing drew near, Birdie started to feel her chest tighten in pain.

Birdie peered out the open door, sticking her head into the cool air of the side alley. She looked up at the night sky, beads of sweat dripping down the pale skin of her cheeks.

"Oh, you're still here, Birdie?"

Birdie looked over her shoulder and saw Fox walk through the kitchen doorway, carrying another crate of bottled tea. He placed the box on the counter with a wry smile. "Canary and I took the cleanup shift so you'd get to leave early, you know?"

"I know, but..." Birdie couldn't even pass the threshold of the doorway, like she was a cursed ghost behind an invisible wall. She shuffled on her feet and she grabbed her little white wing, plucking loose feathers. "H—Hey, Fox..." She stuttered. "C—Can you walk me home?"

Fox's eyes opened wide, and he took a step back, as if her words were a powerful force that slapped him across the face. "Y—You mean _home-home_," he asked for clarification. "And not just to the station?"

Birdie nodded sheepishly, plucking more feathers until there was a tiny pile at her feet. "I...I just don't want to be alone right now..."

"S—Sure—of course," Fox grinned giddily, and he strolled over to her side. "I'll walk you home!" Then he paused, looking down at his uniform and he blushed. "J—Just let me get changed first," and he awkwardly shuffled behind the folding screen, but quickly returned two minutes later in his normal clothes. There was a bright smile that spread from ear to ear on his features as he held out his hand.

Birdie gladly accepted, and his warmth spread through her. She relaxed instantly, the stress dissolving into nothingness.

"Ready?" Fox smiled.

When Birdie nodded in response, he guided her out the door. Though, they did not get far.

"Fox! Fox! _Fooooox!_" Canary ran up to the pair. Her eyes flickered on Birdie for a brief moment, but then a playful grin came to her lips. "You buggered off so quickly, y'know?" She teased, wiggling her eyebrows at him. "I didn't even get to ask if you wanna walk home! Do you wanna, do you wanna, _hmm-hmm?_"

"Sorry, Canary," Fox smiled apologetically and shook his head. "Birdie already asked me," and his grip tightened around the dove's hand. "She's a little worried after everything that's happened so she doesn't want to walk alone."

"T—Then let's all walk home together!" Canary swiftly suggested, smiling cheekily. "The bigger the group the better, right, right?"

"_Oh,_" Birdie's eyes lit up. "That's true."

Fox frowned. "Ah, _uh,_" he scratched the back of his head. "I kinda wanted it to just be Birdie and me this time..."

"Whaaaa-what-what-what?" Canary slapped a hand to her cheek. "Are you gonna _confess_ or something, Fox?"

"N—_No!_" Fox denied the claim, but his bright red cheeks told another story. "I—I wouldn't do something like that until Birdie feels better!"

Canary gasped loudly, her jaw hitting the floor, and she pointed an accusing finger at him. "So you finally admit it!"

"..."

"..."

"...Oh," Canary blinked, covering her mouth. "Wait. Oh my."

Birdie madly blushed. She felt dumb for not realizing sooner that Fox had a crush on her when he made it so obvious. She always chalked up his actions as friendly and kind because he wanted to help her. When she looked back, she saw just how much he hinted that he liked her more than just a friend. She also felt rather embarrassed that her actions appeared just as flirtatious. It wasn't her intention, but oddly enough, she was okay with it.

"I—It seems I really ruined the mood here, huh, _hahaha_..." Canary sensed the tension and she quickly retreated. She darted passed the couple, but she waved a hand over her shoulder with a stiff smile. "I'll get out of your way! See you guys tomorrow, you silly hooligans!"

Then she was gone, leaving Fox and Birdie alone in the side alley. They were both a blushing mess and they slowly headed out. Fox recommended going an alternative route to the station. He suggested the back alleys since the main streets were where a majority of the accidents happened. Birdie didn't mind which way they went; she was just happy to be safe and sound by Fox's side.

"How are you feeling, Birdie?" Fox broke the comfortable silence, and he gently squeezed her hand. "Do you feel better?"

"Much better," Birdie smiled. "Thank you, Fox. I'm sorry for causing you so much trouble, but I'm really glad you were able to take me home. It...It means a lot."

"I'm just happy you're okay." Fox replied, his grip on her hand tightening like a vice. "I hope you aren't too stressed out. It won't be good if you are stressed out. I heard it's bad for your muscles..."

"More like skin," Birdie corrected. "But maybe there are cases where people can get phantom pains caused by muscle spasms due to stress. Life would have to be pretty hard if that was the case, but not for me." She grinned proudly. "I'm as cool as a cucumber now."

"Says the girl that looked like an extra from a zombie horror flick this morning..."

"Hey! I just said I was doing better! Don't be a butt when I'm trying to be positive!"

Fox chuckled at the pouting dove, smiling warmly. Then he reached into his messenger bag, pulling out two plastic bottles. "Thirsty?" He held one out to her. "I brought the drinks with me this time, so I won't leave your side."

Birdie giggled and gladly accepted the drink. She looked over the label, her brow arched in curiosity. "Aren't these the new drinks Manager Wolfe brought in?" She asked. "His family's company makes these teas, right?"

"Yeah. It's a new flavor," Fox answered, undoing the cap. "He brought them in as a test trial for the menu. We were allowed to have any extras, so why not take a few," and then he took a large swig of the tea.

"Nothing wrong with free," Birdie nodded, a thoughtful gleam in her eyes. "I should probably take a few with me tomorrow..."

Birdie took another look at the bottle, which caused a little tick to click against her brain. "Fox? Are you sure these are new?"

"Hmm?" Fox hummed, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. "I think so, yeah? Manager Wolfe brought them in this morning, y'know? Ah, but you weren't here yet when he said they were fresh off the market. Well, _kinda_, they aren't quite on the market yet..."

"Oh..." Birdie untwisted and twisted the plastic cap on her bottle.

Fox sent her a worried look. "Is something wrong?"

Birdie pursed her lips in thought, but then shook her head. "...No," and she removed the cap, a sweet citrus aroma wafting from the bottle. "It's probably just my imagination. I mean, drinks from the same company should all have the same label, right?" Then she brought the lovely smelling tea to her lips.

"Um, yeah," Fox mused, his eyebrow perked up in interest. "Gosh, you are such a silly—"

A strong gust of wind swarmed the alley, and a tornado of red surrounded them. Then a boot from the sky collided with Fox's jaw, _hard_. Fox's face contorted from the force, squishing his features until his body flew with the momentum of the hit. He soared through the air before slamming into the ground, his body bouncing against the cement like a rubber ball until he skid to a halt with a trail of blood following in his wake.

The bottle in Birdie's hands fell to the ground, the scented tea pooling around her feet. She froze, locked in fear when she saw him.

_Hawks_.

The hero landed softly on the ground, the tip of his shoe stained an eerie shade of crimson. His long flight feathers were contorted into stiff curls against his back while his small contours zoomed through the air like flurries of blood.

Hawks turned to her, the collar of his jacket buttoned up to cover half his face, but she couldn't escape the piercing emptiness of his amber eyes. He strolled up to her, and she flinched when he cradled her chin delicately with his gloved hand. His thumb brushed against her lips as he stared into her trembling emerald eyes.

"_R—Run, Birdie!_"

Hawks' focus flickered away from Birdie. A dark shadow hid his eyes, but his attention targeted Fox.

Fox's exposed skin was covered in large bruises and was caked in a layer of fresh blood. He struggled to stand up, his fuzzy ears laid flat against his head and his red tail twisted in pain.

Hawks pulled away from Birdie, one of his longest flight feathers drifting from his wing. The stiff feather slipped into the hero's hand like a deadly sword and he slowly stalked forward, like a predator hunting his prey.

Fox's brown eyes opened wide with fear, his pupils dilating to the size of a needle's tip. Bloodied and battered, he desperately scrambled to his feet and sprinted down the narrow alley.

Birdie instinctively tried to follow, but Hawks held out his arm, blocking her attempt. She scurried away from his presence, the malicious aura repelling her like a spring. Hawks paid no attention to her reaction, his sharp eyes trained on Fox's figure that grew smaller in the distance.

A bright light flickered as Fox reached the end of the alley, engulfing his form and transforming it into a thin black silhouette as a loud horn ricocheted off the walls. There was a painful crunch that followed as Fox's limp body disappeared, replaced by the front of a dented truck.

Birdie stared, unwilling to process the scene. "F—F—_Fox...?_" She whispered hoarsely, croaking out the words like a sick bullfrog. Reality soon sank in, digging its claws deep into her skull so the weight of the situation pierced her mind. Large tears welled up at the corners of her eyes and overflowed, rolling down her pale cheeks. Her lips trembled, and then she screamed at the top of her lungs: "**FOOOOOOOX!**" Birdie dashed forward, tripping over her feet.

The hero held out his arm and she landed in the crook of his elbow.

Birdie yelped and leapt away, her side ramming against a wall in the process. Her heartbeat was erratic and her lungs were frantic. "W—W—W—Why?" She wheezed, clinging to the course bricks until her nails turned red. "W—What did you do!? Why would you do something like that?!"

Hawks took a tiny step forward, but then he stopped to pick up the plastic bottle she had dropped. He stared at the label as he rolled his wrist to make the remaining tea swirl within.

"Y—You attacked h—him," Birdie continued. "And y-y-y-you let him die!"

"He was trying to hurt you," Hawks was blunt. His eyes focused on her, the amber irises dull and lifeless. "Why would I save him?"

"Because you're a hero!" Birdie blurted out. "Heroes save people, n—not hurt them!"

"You think he was a person?" Hawks mused. He chuckled darkly, shaking his head as he placed a hand on his hip and looked back at the bottle. "No, Birdie. He was a _monster_. I don't save monsters. They deserve the punishments they get."

Birdie retreated further against the wall, trying to merge into the bricks. "W—What about all the other villains you've dealt with?" She retorted. "They _are_ monsters, right? Real monsters! I—I was caught up in accidents with r—real monsters, but you didn't...you—you didn't act like this!"

"But I _saved_ you," Hawks replied sweetly, his eyes closed with pure joy as his eyebrows perked up on his forehead. "Don't you see, Birdie," he closed the distance between them and grabbed her hand, a gleeful expression on his features above the collar of his jacket. "All I wanna do is save you."

Birdie's face turned white. She looked and felt like a ghost: dead and cold. "Oh god..." she ripped her hand from his, cradling it close to her chest. "Oh my god. You, d—did you, did you _plan_ those?"

"_Hmm?_" Hawks cocked his head to the side, confused. "Why would I plan something like that? I said I wanted to _save_ you, not _hurt_ you. I'd never want to see you hurt. It's not my fault you happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Don't worry," his tone softened as he reached out to brush his fingers against her cheek. "It's not your fault either. It's just fate I was there to save you, yeah?"

Birdie didn't reply. She was silent safe for a string of loud hiccups, and more tears rolled down her cheeks.

Hawks' thumb tried to wipe away her tears, but he couldn't stop the waterfall that poured from her hazy emerald eyes. "I don't see the problem," Hawks sighed. "You weren't hurt, and I saved you."

Birdie started to quietly sob, frozen in place. All she could do was tremble uncontrollably.

Hawks leaned in close, his head tilting to and fro as he inspected each inch of her face thoroughly. The dullness in his eyes never faltered as he spoke. "Why do you look like that?" The hero's eyes narrowed into two thin slits. "...Are you _scared_ of me, Birdie?"

Birdie pursed her lips tightly, but she rapidly shook her head as the roar of sirens rang in her ears. Hawks seemed pleased by the response, his skin bathed in bright red and blue lights as he leaned in closer. His chin popped out from behind his collar and he gently kissed her sweaty brow. Police cars crowded the end of the alleyway, and a swarm of men in blue piled onto the scene. The men and women surrounded the area with glowing yellow tape; a thin plastic barrier that kept spectators at bay. Then a familiar furry face emerged from the sea of blue uniforms. Detective Shepherd marched down the alley, his hands shoved in his pockets. His long snout twitched as he followed the trail of bloody footsteps, and he growled when it stopped at the red stained tip of the hero's shoe.

"_Hawks_," Detective Shepherd's course voice was stern as he scowled angrily at the hero. "You've been off your game for awhile, but this is rather..._careless_."

Hawks straightened his posture, placing his hands behind his back. "He was trying to hurt her," Hawks replied coolly, his fingers lightly squeezing the plastic bottle still in his grasp. "I intervened and he was startled by my appearance. He ran off into oncoming traffic and got hit."

Shepherd's rage was quelled, but disappointment still gleamed in his dark eyes. "I see, if that was the case—"

"T—That's not true! Fox wasn't trying to hurt me!" Birdie spoke up quickly, tears in her eyes. "H—He—Fox was just walking me home! H—He's crazy!" And she jabbed an accusing finger toward the hero. "_Crazy!_"

_Crunch_.

The bottle behind Hawks back crinkled into a distorted hourglass shape and more tea spilt onto the ground. From the corner of his eye, he glared at the dove, making her squeak and turn away from the silent viciousness.

Rage returned to the detective, a suspicious spark in his eyes. "_Hawks._" He growled, baring fangs.

An empty look settled in the hero's eyes when he turned to the detective. Then it quickly vanished as he shook his head with a dry chuckle. "...Detective Shepherd," Hawks sighed with a worried look in his amber eyes and a weary smirk. "Birdie's just a little shaken right now. Give her some time to calm down, yeah?"

Hawks flashed the dove a warm smile, but Birdie didn't find it comforting.

Hawks disregarded her terrified expression and continued, the warmth on his features melting with the chilling grin that crept onto his lips. "As for Fox. He was a person of..._interest_."

"_Explain,_" Detective Shepherd was short.

"Of course," Hawks readily complied.

Detective Shepherd pivoted on his heel and waved a hand over his shoulder, ushering the hero to follow.

Hawk looked over his shoulder and smiled sweetly at the dove. "Be right back, Birdie," and then he followed after the detective.

Birdie hugged her trembling arms, her nails biting her skin. She watched as Hawks and Detective Shepard talked quietly among themselves. Hawks spoke animatedly with his hands, waving the plastic bottle in front of the detective's face. Detective Shepherd snatched the bottle from the hero's hand and then turned sharply on his heel, marching back to the police scene by himself.

Birdie's eyes opened wide with fear, and she inched away as Hawks slowly stalked back to her. The warmth in his expression slowly died and became an icy glare. Then he reached out, grabbing the dove's arm to keep her in place.

"I was able to explain the situation," Hawks told her. "He recommended I take you home as soon as possible."

Birdie tried to pull away. "I—I d—don't—"

Hawks wrapped his arms around her quivering frame, pulling her close. She was locked in his embrace, her pale cheek flush against his hard chest. "_It's not safe here_," he whispered coldly as he spread his wings wide and took off into the night.

Birdie's scream was drowned out by the wind rushing passed them, and she was horrified that the dozens of police officers below didn't bat an eyelash at her trauma. The fear propelled her to escape by any means necessary. She thrashed and twisted against his arms. She kicked her legs against his shins and shoved her hands against his chest. She was desperate for freedom, sobbing for release, but the hero was unaffected. He tightened his grip and flew faster. Her struggle was useless, but she wouldn't give up; she would find another way. She mustered up her courage, what little bravery she had, and grabbed his collar and pulled on it. His face was exposed, the wind whipping against his skin, and he glanced down at her in confusion.

Then Birdie kissed him.

Hawks gasped against her lips, and his eyes opened wide in shock. His wings shuddered and he lost altitude, flying dangerously close to the treetops of a large park below. Then he flew to a halt, hovering above the dark sea of leaves. He closed his eyes, moaning in delight as he adjusted his hold on her. He slipped his arm firmly around her waist, and he weaved his fingers through her hair.

Then Birdie kneed him in the stomach.

Hawks grunted, groaning in pain, and his grip loosened, dazed by the blow.

Birdie pushed against his chest and fell into the night sky.

For once in her life, her little wings flew. She was like a bumblebee; she shouldn't be able to fly, but God gave her wings so she was meant to fly. The moment was short lived as she quickly realized she was just falling with grace, but it was enough. At least, enough where she didn't kill herself.

Her skin and bones groaned in agony with each branch her body hit. She felt lightheaded when she finally landed on the ground, a large bush filled with itchy leaves and tiny twigs cushioning her fall. Through sheer willpower, she managed to peel her back from the debris and got to her knees.

Then she froze. She covered her mouth with both her hands to silence her ragged breath.

The hero dove from the sky, the soles of his feet hitting the ground hard. His wings bristled, dancing angrily to kick up a violent gust of wind that shook the leaves on all the foliage in the area. Hawks twirled around over and over, and his head darted to and fro, scanning the shadows while his red feathers darted away from his wings to broaden his search.

She remained still, forcing her muscles to tighten and her joints to lock, but she could not stop the rapid beat of her heart.

Hawks froze and then his head snapped in her direction.

Birdie felt her heart leap into her throat, but she choked back the sob as she watched him stalk closer and closer. His hand reached out to the bush, brushing against the leaves.

Birdie closed her eyes tightly, but she never felt his touch. She dared to open her eyes, and she saw that the hero held the bright blue ribbon that had been in her hair.

Hawks held it tightly, staring down at the silk with a blank look in his dead amber eyes.

Then there was a loud rustle in the distance and Hawks darted away in the blink of an eye.

A moment of eerie silence settled in and Birdie carefully left her hiding spot. She kept her hands over her mouth as she slowly moved between the thin trees. Red feathers patrolled the stone paths, but her soft steps and controlled breathing didn't alert the hero. Or else she would have been in his talons once more. That thought pumped adrenaline through her veins, forcing her to move forward. She recognized the park trails the further she crept through the woods. She hadn't been to the place since she was a child, but she knew it was only a few minutes from the Pink Palace.

She saw the glow of streetlights, and Birdie quickened her pace when a line of buildings against the park's edge came into view. The lights grew brighter and brighter, bathing her in the warm yellow hue. She heard the soft murmur of pedestrians walking alongside the thin flow of late night traffic and the sweet smell of barbecue and beer.

_Brrrrr-ing, brrrrr-ing, brrrrr-ing._

Birdie froze as her phone's ringtone went off inside her pocket, and right before her eyes was a large red feather. The plume paused and turned toward her slowly, as if it was a little minion staring at her intensely.

She made a break for the road, but the hero flew in front of her in a flash. There was a wild look in his eyes, the angry amber hue boring a hole through her soul.

Birdie screamed, her body pierced with fear and she tumbled backwards onto the ground. "_No!_ **Stop!**"

She hoped her voice would carry to the crowds outside the park, but a rumble shook the earth and startled cries sang out from the street. A vibrant orange glow illuminated the trees and the smell of cinders wafted through the air. Her eyes went wide when she saw a dozen tiny red feathers dart from the street and roost back in the hero's wings.

Birdie broke out into a cold sweat. "_D—Don't come near me!_"

Hawks ignored her plead. He crouched down on his hands and knees, trapping her underneath his looming shadow. "_It is not safe here_," the hero told her coldly.

"P—Please..." Birdie trembled. "P—Please leave me alone..."

Hawks leaned in close, peering at her frightened state like she was a rare species behind glass. "Why are you scared?" He questioned. "I _saved_ you. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you if I didn't?"

"N—_**No!**_" Birdie shoved her hands to his chest, trying to push him away. "No, you didn't! No, you did not save me, you did not help me, you've done nothing but hurt me!"

Hawks eyes flicked with life, a flash of rage crossing his features. He grabbed her wrists firmly and looked her dead in the eyes. "I did not _hurt_ you. I _saved_ you."

"You hurt me! You hurt me! _You! Hurt! Me!_" Birdie shrieked, thrashing in his grasp. "You've hurt me for some—some sick pleasure, right? _Right?!_ Do you get some twisted high seeing me in pain?! What did I ever do to you!? I'm sorry if I did something to upset you! Just please, let me go!"

Hawks pinned her hands above her head, the action silencing Birdie's fit. The rage in his eyes dissolved into an unnaturally sweet warmth that made Birdie fidget and whine.

"...You just don't understand. Not yet, anyway," Hawks calmly told her, a faint smile crossing his lips that did not reach his eyes. "I'll say it again, I'll keep saying it over and over until you understand. I never hurt you, never will."

He lovingly cradled her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin. She winced at his touch, and the hero retreated in response. Then he slowly stood up, standing tall in the orange light, and he spread his wings out wide. Loose feathers swirled around his figure as Birdie gazed up at him, her tiny frame consumed in his dark shadow.

"Just call for me," he whispered softly. "I'll be watching, I'll be waiting. I know you'll call on me when you finally understand," then he took off into the night sky.

Birdie couldn't move. She sat on the ground, aimlessly watching the busy street from the cool shade of the leaves. Whatever happened was already cleaned up. Only a single officer was called in, and the tiny man inspected the one casualty: a burnt out van that had a smokey, overheated engine.

_Brrrrr-ing, brrrrr-ing, brrrrr-ing._

The phone jittered from within her pocket once more, and thunderous footsteps followed soon after.

"_**BIRDIE!**_"

Mister Ox rushed from the busy street and into the woods, skidding onto his knees when he saw her on the ground covered in leaves, twigs and more bruises. He cradled her cheeks in his large hands, worriedly inspecting her condition. Thin red cuts decorated her exposed skin, and there was a large rip that cut through her orange dress, exposing her thigh.

"What the hell happened to ya!?" Mister Ox was bewildered, a variety of emotions flickering across his eyes: concern, anger and fear. "It was getting late n' ya never came home. I tried calling ya, but you never picked up. I heard there was an accident by Buddy's Bar n' people were hollering 'bout that damned hero's feathers saving them, so I came running over as fast as I could. I told that old bastard not ta touch that shitty car anymore or it'd pop! _Ugh!_ Damnit, Birdie! Who the fuck did this to ya!? Tell me right now!"

Birdie stared up at him blankly, but then her eyes became glossy and it was hard for her to see. Her sickly white cheeks finally regained color, turning a rosy pink as she started to hiccup. She cried, wailing so loudly that she felt like a little kid that fallen on the sidewalk and skinned her knee. She buried her face to the landlord's chest, her shoulders shuddering violently as her little white wings wearily drooped against her back.

Mister Ox was silent as he wrapped his arms around her protectively. He stroked her messy hair, gently picking out leaves and twigs from her knotted curls. He tried to sooth her with soft words of comfort, but Birdie continued to sob. She sobbed and sobbed in relief that she was in the familiar safety and warmth that a child felt in their parent's arms.


	6. Episode 1: Hunger, Chapter VI

**Warning: This has dark themes that may not be suitable for some readers.**

* * *

**Birds of a Feather**

**Episode 1: Hunger**

**Chapter**** VI: August 7th**

"_I'm sorry. You can't take off work._"

Birdie's heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.

"_We are extremely understaffed with Fox...gone._"

She fiddled with the worn quilt on her lap, tugging at a loose piece of red yarn. "I—I really don't feel good, sir." She tried to reason with him. "I'm in bad shape because of last night and I—I-I-I-I—" Then she abruptly cut off, choking back the sobs as the memories flooded back.

Her pale skin was discolored with new black bruises and tiny pink cuts decorated her arms and legs. Birdie spent the night on the Ox's old pink floral couch, and Missus Ox stayed up tending to Birdie's injuries. Though, the physical pain paled in comparison to the wound in her mind. Birdie was an emotional mess. Her nightmares had transcended to night terrors. Throughout the night, she woke up screaming and crying in fear. Her mind willed away the horrific images, but the icy grasp lingered on her skin like needles gouging through the tissue. Missus Ox was always by her side in a flash, but it didn't help that Birdie panicked more when she saw the florist's red hair.

Birdie knew it was _him_; she couldn't escape him.

She didn't know how to deal with the trauma safe for tucking herself away in a corner under the Ox couple's watchful eyes, but she felt cornered by her responsibilities as an adult.

"_I need you here, 36_. _We should have opened an hour ago, but I can't get ahold of 37. It's like she disappeared off the face of the earth..._"

Birdie hung her head and whispered: "...I understand, sir."

"_Good. I will see you shortly then._"

Birdie hung up, and a dark shadow cloaked her watery bloodshot eyes. She curled up into a tight ball underneath the warm quilt and burrowed her head against her knees. She inhaled and exhaled, breathing deeply to try and calm her irrational nerves. Her little white wings were slouched against her shoulders, but slowly they started to perk up and flitter against her back. With a heavy sigh, she shakily rose from the couch. The quilt slipped off her lap, flopping into a pile at her feet on the floor. She stepped over it and made her way to the front door.

"_Birdie? _Baby, what're you doing?"

The dove paused and looked over her shoulder, seeing the florist peer around the corner from the kitchen. Missus Ox's long hair was pulled back into a messy red bun, but thick strains were curled around her ivory horns. There were large bags under her eyes from the restless night, but they seemed to melt away as the steam from her coffee cup wafted up to kiss her skin.

"Where do ya think you're going?" Missus Ox questioned worriedly, stepping out into the living room. She clutched the pink mug in her grasp. "Didn't ya ask, baby? What'd he say? He let ya take off, right?"

Birdie reached over and grabbed her tiny wing, pruning loose feathers. "...I—I have to go in," Birdie mumbled. "None of the other servers—they can't be reached, so I can't call off."

"_What!?_" Missus Ox gasped, and the coffee in her cup jittered as she jumped. Her crimson eyes grew wide as she covered her mouth in shock. "But ain't that little Foxy friend of yours always saying how your boss would let ya take a day off if ya needed a break!? You need a break now more than ever, baby!"

Birdie winced at the memory of Fox, the images still too fresh in her mind. She forcefully tried to push the pictures away by pulling more feathers from her wing. Soon, a tiny pile pooled around her feet like a bank of freshly fallen snow.

Missus Ox's brows furrowed when she saw Birdie's reaction, a concerned wrinkle on her brow. "Baby?" The florist gently placed her mug on the dining table and then closed the gap between herself and Birdie. Missus Ox placed her hands on Birdie's shoulders, shaking the dove slightly. "Tell me: what happened last night? You haven't muttered a peep 'bout it. If you're scared of getting in trouble, please don't! That's just Blackie's dumb catch phrase. He ain't gonna blame ya for nothing this time."

Birdie wanted to tell them everything, but she couldn't. She was paranoid. Detective Shepherd had been so livid and suspicious of Hawks' actions, yet the detective did nothing and trusted the hero's word. Birdie didn't doubt Mister and Missus Ox; she knew they would believe her, but she was scared. Raven's conspiracy theory about Hawks spreading slanderous information on Shark's past seemed more plausible the more Birdie thought about it. She didn't want to lose Mister and Missus Ox if they tried to help her. Birdie would never forgive herself if something happened to them. Yet, bottling up her emotions made her frustrated. It made her cry; it was the only form of release she could find.

"There, there, baby," Missus Ox cooed, wrapping her arms around Birdie. The florist held the dove close, squeezing as much warmth and comfort she could muster. Then she pulled away, wiping away the remaining tears on Birdie's red stained cheeks. "Why don't I drive ya to work? How'd that make ya feel? Right as rain, I reckon!"

"...But you don't have your license..."

"_Shhhhh_," Missus Ox placed a finger to Birdie's lips, and a coy look came to her crimson eyes. "Cops don't know that. It'll be our little secret, okay, baby? As long as I follow all them traffic laws, it'll be fine!"

Birdie didn't hesitate and accepted the offer. Missus Ox may not have her license, but that didn't mean she didn't know how to drive. Mister Ox had taught the florist after all; he even taught Birdie. He wanted to make sure they could get anywhere in case of an emergency. Birdie felt this was the best time to put that philosophy into action. While illegal, Birdie felt safe and reassured to have a ride to work with someone she trusted.

In no time at all, the truck was parked on the street outside Wolf's Den. Missus Ox had gracefully coasted through the busy streets without rousing any suspicion. Before the florist pulled away, Missus Ox said she would pick up Birdie that evening, however Birdie wasn't confident if she would make it to the end of her shift. She wasn't mentally ready for it, but it appeared she wasn't the only one.

"Boss, we should just close shop. No one's here. They didn't even bother coming."

"We will _not_, Frog."

Birdie heard the manager and sous chef bickering in the kitchen as she entered the backroom. Curious, she peeked around the open doorway to see the two men squaring off. Manager Wolfe tried to use his intimidatingly tall figure against the sous chef, but Sous Chef Frog was not deterred. Anger fueled his emotions, and he would not back down.

"We just lost Fox last night! Less than _24 hours_ ago!" Sous Chef Frog croaked bitterly, glowering at the manager with narrow yellow eyes. "People are mourning! Cook Salamander and Chef Toad told me they ain't coming 'cause they're still grieving 'bout losing a friend! I'm sure Canary is doing the same damn thing! The girl was practically head over heels for the guy with how much she clung to 'im. And don't even get me started on Birdie..."

Manager Wolfe was silent and held his sharp glare, but then his large ears twitched and his dark eyes flickered to the doorway when he heard Birdie shuffle by the doorway. "Ah," he sighed in relief. "You made it, 36."

An irritated look crossed Sous Chef Frog's large yellow eyes. "You're kidding me," he was blunt, his hoarse tone completely dry. Then his tone boiled over with anger as he snapped at Manager Wolfe. "Look at her! _Look!_" Sous Chef Frog jabbed one of his large green fingers at Birdie. "She's in no condition to work! She was _there_, Boss. She was _there!_ She's covered in bruises and cuts! She looks physically beat, and I don't even need to ask if she is mentally defeated, her bloodshot eyes say it all! We need to close up shop so everyone can recover!"

Manager Wolfe straightened his posture and gave a curt reply. "...Work is the best medicine sometimes."

"It might work for you, but it sure as hell isn't working for the rest of us," Sous Chef Frog snapped, and his green, webbed fingers curled into tight fists at his side.

Manager Wolfe paused. "We open shop in 30 minutes," and then he promptly turned on his heel, leaving the kitchen.

Sous Chef Frog's furious stare bored a hole through Manager Wolfe's retreating back, but then the sous chef sighed in defeat. He shook his head in disappointment and then looked over at Birdie, offering her a small smile. "...You gonna be okay?"

Birdie smiled weakly in return and opened her mouth to try and reassure the sous chef, but then she closed it. A grim frown overwhelmed her lips and she shook her head.

Sous Chef Frog frowned in return. "Can't even come up with a quirky joke this time..."

Birdie shook her head again.

Sous Chef Frog said nothing. He merely patted her shoulder with his webbed hand. Then he placed his chef's hat on his head, covering his shaggy ebony hair, and then he shuffled quietly through the lonely kitchen to begin cooking orders.

Birdie followed suit and got ready for the long day as the only server. By the time she headed out to the main floor, the restaurant was already packed. She was plunged head first into the fray, but her mind was not in the right place. The restaurant was only open 30 minutes before Manager Wolfe was forced to close early because every order was incorrect and half of them landed on the floor.

"Should have listened to me."

"Not now, Frog."

Sous Chef Frog angrily swept while Birdie sluggishly mopped the messy wooden floors stained with scrambled eggs, greasy bacon and syrupy pancakes. Manager Wolfe was silent, but the irritated scowl on his furry face was plain as day as he flipped the _open_ sign hanging from the door back to closed. There was a stiff silence as the three cleaned the restaurant and tucked away uniforms. Then the tension was released when the three walked through the employee's entrance.

"Do you want a ride to the station, Birdie?" Sous Chef Frog offered as he zipped up the front of his black leather jacket. "I have an extra helmet."

"I'll give her a ride to the station," Manager Wolfe cut in, massaging his furry temple. "It's the least I can do for putting her through this morning..."

"Didn't know you still had a heart in there," Sous Chef Frog scoffed. "Might as well give her a full day's pay while you're at it."

"_Frog_," Manager Wolfe growled.

"_Tch_," Sous Chef Frog rolled his large yellow eyes, and then he placed his bright blue helmet over his head. "Dunno why Fox ever called you a _good_ guy. Sure as hell ain't showing it."

"..."

The sous chef ignored the look he received from the manager and turned to the dove. "Get some rest, okay?" He told her; his tone was much softer and kinder.

"I—I will," Birdie bowed her head. "Thank you."

Frog nodded before he walked toward his motorcycle parked in the small alley behind the restaurant.

Manager Wolfe sighed heavily as he pivoted on his heel. "This way, Birdie," he continued, waving a hand over his broad shoulder.

Birdie trailed behind Manager Wolfe to the main street where his sporty black car was parked. Manager Wolfe opened the passenger's side door for her, allowing Birdie to climb in. The inside had a strange blend of smells. The scent of expensive leather and exotic tea leaves swirled around her nostrils, making her nose twitch. In the narrow backseat, there was a dozen boxes of packaged tea. All the boxes were wrapped in a plastic film except for one that had a single bottle leaning over the side. Manager Wolfe slid into the driver's side and revved up the engine before merging into traffic.

There was a thick silence between the two, filling the car with a visible awkwardness.

"...I had a schedule to uphold," Manager Wolfe broke the silence calmly, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "I'm sure you understand."

"...I know." Birdie replied. "I know you're not a bad person, sir."

"Thank you, Birdie," Manager Wolfe sighed. "Why don't you grab a tea from the back; there's plenty."

Birdie reached around and grabbed the bottle of tea that was peeking out from the open box. It was the same flavor as the one that Fox gave her the previous night. She smiled at it sadly, holding it in her lap.

There was another long stretch of silence, and the manager's voice tapped on it like a finger against a window. "...It will help you relax."

Birdie squeezed the bottle lightly, the diluted brown liquid sloshing around the container. "...Okay," she mumbled softly, opening the bottle. "Thank you, sir," and she drank the tea. It tasted good; sweet like cherries and oranges blended together perfectly for a tropical treat.

On cue, the tension in her muscles relaxed. She didn't even realize how rigid her limbs were. Her eyes became heavy, her vision blurry. The colors outside the window swirled together like watercolors on vellum. It took too much effort to focus and her eyes closed, consuming her into darkness as her mind slipped away.

Then something uncomfortably hot touched her skin, jolting her awake.

Her eyes snapped open as the sensation of a viscous, lukewarm liquid slid down her cheek. Her vision was hazy, the colors around her ran together like runny paints on a canvas. Slowly, the pictures became clearer, but then she was blinded by a bright light high above her. Black shadows gave her eyes respite, allowing her pupils to adjust. Then she was greeted by an unwelcome face inches away from her own.

The wolfish man panted feverishly. His sickeningly hot breath beat down on her face mercilessly. His crooked wolf ears twitched uncontrollably atop his head, the shaggy grey fur frizzled with excitement. There was a hungry glare in his beady black eyes, staring at her like she was a prized hen on a silver platter. The gluttonous look feasted on her figure. His long red tongue rolled out between his cracked lips, dripping with thick saliva that stained her cheek and rolled down her neck.

Birdie gasped, her eyes wide with fear. She tried to flee, but her body wouldn't respond. Her wrists and ankles cried in pain, making her flinch when white twine cut into her skin. Her arms were pinned above her head, tied to a large iron eye-bolt screwed into the cold metal slab she laid upon. Birdie glanced down at her bound feet tied to a matching black eye-bolt on the other end of the slab, but that caused a fresh wave of hysteria to wash over her. All her clothes were gone, leaving her bare body exposed and vulnerable under the bright white light.

Her panic escalated to a dangerous level. Her heart-rate was erratic, and the ropes that detained her tightened against her desperate attempt to escape. Her breath was shallow when the man's large fingers traced along the line of her collarbone. His course touch left goosebumps in its wake, and Birdie screamed in pure terror, but it was short-lived.

A disgruntled scowl warped the wolfish man's lustful expression. He pulled away from their close quarters and he grumbled as he ran his hand through his shaggy white hair. Then he pulled out a shiny roll of duct tape from the pocket of his large black coat. The sound of the sticky adhesive ripped through the air as he pulled a chunk off the roll and slapped it over Birdie's mouth.

"She's awake," the wolfish man grunted.

"That's 'cause you're _salivating_ over her, moron."

A young woman snapped angrily at the wolfish man on the opposite side of the slab. She pushed a cart filled with tiny glass bottles of powders closer, sliding it right beside the metal slab. Her furry red tail flickered back and forth wildly, and her fuzzy red ears were flat against her short ginger hair as she eyed the wolfish man in disgust. "God, Varg, wipe the fuckin' spit off your goddamn mouth. We _have_ to finish the job or else we ain't eating tonight."

Varg eerily smirked as he slowly wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Couldn't help it," he leered down at Birdie, soaking up her exposed skin. "She's real _niiiice_, Räv."

Räv rolled her amber eyes and groaned, very irritated with the response. She turned away, crouching down to pull a thick book from the cart's lower shelf. She peeled back the worn red velvet cover and flipped through the dusty pages. Then she stopped and set the open book on top of the cart beside the collection of glass bottles.

"Can't blame me." Varg smirked with a shrug. "She's a..._treat_."

"She's a complete joke," Räv scoffed. "Honestly, not worth the time we went through to catch her."

"_Jealous _'cause of _him?_" Varg inquired, grinning in amusement.

A large vein appeared on Räv's brow and a deadly look sparked in her amber eyes. Her hand lashed out to the closest bottle on the cart and she chucked it at Varg, but the wolfish man gracefully dodged the projectile by simply tilting his head to the side. The glass bottle shattered against the cement floor in the darkness, and the distinct scent of crushed chili wafted through the air.

"Show some damn respect for the dead, asshole." Räv hissed venomously. "I have every fuckin' right to be pissed 'cause she got Fox _killed_."

Birdie's heart stopped and then plummeted into the pit of her stomach.

Räv noticed the look in Birdie's eyes, the emerald pools swirling with a mix of emotions: fear, confusion, shock and sadness. Räv sneered at the pitiful expression and grabbed a fist full of the dove's ivory curls. The long red nails dug into Birdie's scalp, making her cry against the duct tape and tiny tears of pain rolled down her cheeks.

Räv leaned in close. "It's _your_ fault he's gone, you dumbass-cunt," she seethed, but there was a malicious smirk etched onto her crimson lips. "But just you wait, you're gonna get your _just desserts_ soon enough," then she slammed the side of Birdie's head against the slab's cold surface. Räv relished in the dove's pain, her smirk morphing into a crooked grin. "I can promise you that."

Varg watched silently from the side, his head tilted to the side in thought. Then he spoke. "Really hate her, huh?"

"No dip, Sherlock," Räv snapped, her nails biting further into Birdie's skin. Räv applied more pressure against Birdie's head, causing the dove to whine in agony as her cheek and temple molded to the icy metal. "What clued you in on that one? Or did ya think this was one of those mythical _girl_ things?"

Varg held onto a small length of silence. Then a sinister grin slowly crept onto his features. "Then lem'me _taste_ her?"

Räv blinked, staring at Varg blankly. Then she scowled when the dove started to violently squirm in response to the wolfish man's proposal. Räv slammed the side of Birdie's head against the metal slab again, making the dove stop, but she did not silence her muffled cries.

Varg ignored the display and continued. "For quality's sake…"

"You know the rules," Räv was blunt.

"_C'moooooon,_" Varg grabbed Räv's wrist and pulled her hand away from the dove's head. Then his fingers gingerly ran through Birdie's ivory curls. "I _love_ to play with the pretty ones before supper."

Räv crossed her arms, a stern look carved into her harsh features. She looked between Varg and Birdie repeatedly before scoffing. "...Fine," she glanced away in disgust. "It's fuckin' creepy when you say more than four words, but you better be quick about it," she quickly snapped, glaring at him. "I don't wanna be dragged down if you get in trouble with the boss."

A dark shadow crossed the satisfied look in Varg's black eyes. He peered down at the dove and grinned wildly as he licked his lips, coating them until they were slick in saliva. His hand reached out for her, and Birdie's eyes opened wide and her pupils dilated into two tiny dots. She desperately twisted and turned to avoid his grimy touch. She ignored the sharp pain from the twine around her wrists and ankles, but his hand still made contact with her skin, his touch revoltingly hot. His large fingers curled around her thin neck, and Varg cackled darkly when he saw the flood of tears streaming from Birdie's watery, bloodshot eyes.

"What are you two doing? You _still_ haven't started the prep?"

Varg instantly recoiled, his hand darting back to his side and he stood at attention like a soldier appearing before his commander. Räv straightened her posture, smoothing out the wrinkles in her black blouse and brushing aside any loose ginger hair from her tan cheeks and brow. Birdie froze when she hear the familiar voice, her blood running cold. Manager Wolfe emerged from the shadows, looming over her with an irritated look in his dark eyes.

"Oh my heavens; what a peculiar pickle." Beside the manager was an equally tall man dressed in an elegant violet tuxedo, and who also bore the same wolfish quirk. He peered down at her and scratched the thick grey fur at the end of his long snout. "It would appear that 36 has awoken, my good chap. That would have indeed made their preparations difficult. I believe the last one gave Monsieur Varg a miserable bruise upon his brow and knocked him clear off his feet when 35 awoke! He almost, if I dare say, _flew the coop_." There was a humorous twinkle in the wolfman's dark eyes as he nudged the manager's arm with his elbow.

Manager Wolfe was unamused by the joke as he trained his harsh gaze on Varg. "Sir Loup," the manager finally addressed the wolfman's joke. "I don't think that was the case this time..."

"_Oh?_" Sir Loup's pointed grey ears twitched and then perked up, a curious expression on his furry face. "My good friend, what on earth would it be then if it's not 36's primal instinct to, dare I say, _fly away?_"

Manager Wolfe ignored Sir Loup's inquiry. "You know we are on a tight schedule," Manager Wolfe scowled at Varg. "We can't stay in the warehouse too long or else the guests at the estate will become..._restless_. You know how they hate to wait."

"But she's so..._delectable_," Varg sneered, a hungry gleam crossing his beady eyes. His hand slowly reached out and his fingers brushed along the dove's red neck. "Her skin's so _exquisite_..." then his large hand locked onto her jaw, his sharp nails digging into her skin as he leaned in close to devilishly whisper: "Her flesh so _tender_..." and his tongue slowly slid along her cheekbone, tasting her salty tears.

"Good Lord, Monsieur Varg!" Sir Loup gasped in horror. "How vulgar! How impure! You are ruining 36's state of mind with your barbarous actions and attitude!"

"_Tch_," Räv snorted, rolling her eyes. "You should just let him do it."

"We don't need a repeat of the last time we allowed him to _play_," Manager Wolfe snapped bitterly, his harsh gaze warding Varg's wandering hands away from the dove's body. "The guests were appalled when they heard what he'd done for the New Year's Eve Party."

"And we should not forget 36's fragile mind," Sir Loup spoke up kindly, reaching out to gently pat the dove's head. "It shall cause her body an enormous amount of stress! We must be swift about these things or, dare I say, the night shall collapse and be ruined!"

"Agreed," Manager Wolfe nodded. "It was hard enough keeping her from stressing like the last one. There were many complaints about 35. I told Fox to try a different approach with 36 since she was female," then the manager looked down at her sorry state and sighed. "And he did what he could at least."

"If I remember correctly, I believe Monsieur Fox desired to switch targets from 36 to 37 at the last minute?" Sir Loup added, tapping his snout in thought. "...Do you think he got..._attached_ to 36?"

"_No way in hell,_" Räv hissed, scowling at the wolfman. "Fox was a professional, Sir Loup; he was No. 1 for a reason, y'know? He told me _all_ the time that she was brainless, naïve, and gullible. She charmed by his performance hook, line and sinker. He practically had everyone fooled. Fox said it himself: she _is_ the definition of a dumbass birdbrain."

Birdie felt her heart break into tiny pieces, and Räv looked smug with satisfaction when she saw the look of pure misery on Birdie's face.

"Sir Loup," Manager Wolfe turned to the wolfman. "Fox wanted to switch to 37 because of that _bastard_ of a hero. He became a real thorn in our sides."

"Ah yes, indeed, indeed, indeed." Sir Loup nodded slowly as he scratched the grey scruff on his snout. "Law enforcement _has _been pursuing our tails due to the..._little_ oversight with 1 nearly three years ago. Varg misplacing that red-feathered cranium truly was a mishap, despite the fact that it was discovered by the police nearly five months later. It was an awful shame we had to cancel all those estate events while they investigated the manor, the company and warehouses. However, we are fortunate this location was overlooked due to being off the record for nearly fifty years."

"They must have been desperate if they recruited a _hero's_ aid," Manager Wolfe muttered. "But their precious Winged Hero failed in the end."

"Obviously," Räv rolled her eyes. "Or else we'd be in prison by now."

"In hindsight, it's a rather sad affair about Fox…" Manager Wolfe sighed. "Such a pity...he was an excellent employee. My No.1."

"Fret not, my good friend," Sir Loup pat the manager's shoulder. "We were still able to apprehended our 36th catch, thanks to her naivety and gullible nature that Fox was able to intensify! She may have been involved in multiple accidents, which made Fox's task strenuous and ultimately led to his untimely death, but luckily, that turned into our favor!"

"Of course," Manager Wolfe replied. "We will offer a toast to Fox's efforts at the estate; he was a key player to our operation. He will be difficult to replace. Now," the manager reared the conversation down another route. "We _must_ begin the preparations."

Birdie's mind was broken. All the information made her thoughts spiral rapidly, looping over and over. It made her so dizzy, and the rotten stench of the oil caused a deeper sense of vertigo. Varg whistled as he lathered the sticky yellow substance on his large hands.

Sir Loup took a small step forward and leaned over Birdie, a thoughtful gleam in his dark eyes. Then without a shred of hesitation, he ran his long fingers along the dove's stomach, making her squeak.

"_Hmm._ I see. I see." Sir Loup ignored her discomfort and he continued to prod her like she was a rare specimen under a scalpel's edge. "The bruising is amazingly thorough across her skin. Even and tender," he poked her side with two fingers. Then he frowned when his fingertip traced a tiny cut along her abdomen. "The blemishes on the other hand, well, I suppose there is nothing to be done about that. They may be abundant, but they are small and thin at the very least."

"...She has a new bruise on her head," Manager Wolfe commented, glancing toward Räv.

"She was makin' prep time difficult," Räv sneered in response.

Manager Wolfe sighed and shook his head.

"The more bruises the better, my good chap," Sir Loup grinned happily.

Then the wolfman nonchalantly grabbed the dove's chest, fondling her bosom with his large hands. Birdie yelped, and she squirmed, but Sir Loup held onto her firmly. "Amble breasts. Natural, soft, and with a very delightful spring. They are much larger than expected as well!" His hands groped her, and the unavoidable skin to skin contact made her tremble. The long fingers continued to play with her breasts, experimenting thoughtfully. "They fit perfectly in one's hands. The guests will find this most wonderful. There will be plenty to share without a doubt."

Varg snarled at Sir Loup, an envious look in his eyes.

"He's not doing this for pleasure," Manager Wolf snapped.

"What do you mean, my good friend?" Sir Loup appeared genuinely puzzled. "I am positively enjoying the examination."

"For an entirely different reason," Manager Wolfe sighed.

"You're not making a single shred of sense, my good chap," Sir Loup frowned. "Please speak it plainly if you wish to have a discussion."

Manager Wolfe sighed and placed a hand on Sir Loup's shoulder. "It's not something that needs to be discussed. Let's just move along with prep."

"If you say so, then let us carry on our merry way." Sir Loup casually tossed aside the former conversation as he turned on his heel and grabbed the open red velvet book on the cart beside him. "Now, how shall we dress her, my good chap?" The wolfman inquired as he flipped through the old book. "There are multiple themes to choose from. Mediterranean? Indian? Thai? Chinese? Middle Eastern? Caribbean? Cajun?"

The two men went on a tangent, debating the culture of worldly themes across the globe, but Birdie's mind could no longer focus on their words. The stench wafting from the wolfish man's grimy hands pierced her nose, making her nauseous. It was a rancid smell, like sour butter. It grew stronger and stronger as his large greasy hands roamed every inch of her body. Sir Loup and Manager Wolfe had turned their backs as Varg began his work, but then Räv clicked her tongue and nodded toward the wolfish man.

Varg cackled mischievously in pleasure as Räv stepped to the side, blocking Sir Loup and Manager Wolfe from view and then she turned her back, focusing her attention on the collection of glass jars.

Varg's hungry grin sent chills down Birdie's spine as he coated her skin in the potent oil until it was slick and shiny. He worked along her neck and collarbone, and his palms lingered on her chest, massaging her breasts until the oiled flesh bulged between his thick fingers. A sharp groan burned her throat as her body quivered, betraying her soul when his thumbs slowly flicked back and forth against her nipples; he rubbed them until they were hard against his skin. A dark smirk crossed Varg's lips as he pinched each teat between his thumb and forefinger, cruelly twisting and pulling. A low growl of satisfaction rumbled from the pits of his throat when he saw she winced, her back arching in the agonizing pain masked by pleasure.

Then his hands slid along her stomach, the skin slick in a thin layer of sweat. His palms made small circles along her skin as they slipped down to her hips. Then his large hand dipped between her thighs, and Birdie jolted when two greasy fingers penetrated her. The action was fluid and forceful, sending shockwaves of pain throughout her body as they intruded so quick and deep within her. Her back trembled and arched again, forced to submit to the fingers that caressed her most sensitive curves. Her head went back when she bellowed a muffled scream against the duct tape covering her mouth.

_**Smack**__, _the sound echoed throughout the large room and Varg yelped in pain.

The large fingers exited her body swiftly. Birdie's warped limbs relaxed, her back slouching and the side of her head resting against the metal slab. Sweat clung to her skin and tears streamed down her cheeks as her chest quickly rose and fell.

"_Stop. That_." Manager Wolfe seethed between his sharp teeth when he saw what the wolfish man did. "Do not touch 36 _there_, you _imbecile_, or else we _will_ have a repeat of New Year's!"

"Just let him be, Boss." Räv grumbled. "We don't want her to fight back and his wild touch will wear her out."

Varg jeered, a thrilled gleam in his beady eyes as his hand slipped between the dove's thighs once more. His intrusive fingers made Birdie squirm against the uncomfortable heat he stirred within her. Though, the deadly glare from Manager Wolfe made Varg whine childishly and pull back his hand, .

"Plus, I think she actually likes it," Räv sneered, a smug smirk on her crimson lips. "What a fuckin' creep."

"Actually," Sir Loup quickly interjected. "If I may be so bold to say, I believe 36 is _not_ enjoying Monsieur Varg's actions in the slightest. You see, when the body, of that of a male or female, is stimulated correctly, it _will_ react to said stimulation, even in the most outrageous of situations—"

"Just _shut up,_" Räv barked.

"My word!" Sir Loup gasped in shock, and he looked to Manager Wolfe. "Was it something I said, my good chap?"

Manager Wolfe was silent as he massaged his furry temple, and he growled in irritation.

"Räv's insulting her," Varg was blunt.

"Oh? Oh! Yes, indeed. That does make sense now."

"Oh. My. God."

"Women are rather fickle creatures. I can never truly fathom what is on their minds…"

"You're just a—"

"**Enough of this!**" Manager Wolfe howled, silencing the room. Then he scowled at the wolfish man, and growled: "_Stick to what is written, Varg._"

"But _look_ at her, Boss." Räv flicked an open hand toward the dove. "She's covered in tears, fuckin' sweat, and only God knows what else 'cause I ain't checking. The amount of salt has already topped the charts, so might as well just let Varg get everything out of his system."

"And _that_ is exactly why I did _not_ want Varg playing around with 36!" Manager Wolfe grumbled, massaging the stress that built up in his furry temple. "His infatuation with the _natural_ spices is going to drive me crazy."

"The guests were rather..._distraught_ during the New Year's Eve Party." Sir Loup nodded grimly. "So, what are we to do now, my good chap? Shall we have Mademoiselle Räv scrub 36 down."

"_No_," Räv harshly declined

"I will," Varg quickly offered.

"I do not believe that is the wisest of ideas, Monsieur Varg…" Sir Loup frowned.

"_No. No. Nononono._" Manager Wolfe shook his head. "We don't have time to clean 36. We are already pressed for time, so any delay will be a hindrance." He paused, and he closed his eyes in thought. "Alright. Varg wasn't able to go overboard this time, so I don't think 36's ruined. We'll just refrain from adding anymore salt until the end."

"_By Jove!_" Sir Loup snapped his fingers in excitement. "That sounds like an excellent plan, my good friend!"

Manager Wolfe nodded and began barking orders.

"Räv, the theme will be Mediterranean, prepare the spices."

"You got it, Boss."

"Varg, cut 36 from the slab, but be careful not to disturb the binds. We don't need another runner."

"Will do, sir."

Räv and Varg quickly went to their assigned task. Räv gathered jars of rosemary, thyme and sage while Varg used his sharp nails to cut two small sections of twine.

The hollow pit in Birdie's stomach grew deeper and darker as she heard her captors' conversation. Their words were sinking in like rusty spikes gouging into her skull. She didn't think her nightmare could get any worse; she was thrown into a hellish den filled with bloodthirsty devils.

When the dove was freed from the twin iron eye-bolts, she rolled off the slab despite her wrists and ankles being bound. Her body collided with the cement floor at the wolfish man's feet, but a powerful shot of adrenaline rushed through her veins. She felt no pain, only an animalistic instinct to flee. She desperately flapped her little white wings, and she hovered a few inches off the ground. Varg sighed as he easily hoisted her up and over his shoulder. Birdie screamed against the crinkled duct tape and she thrashed in Varg's grasp. Her wings continued to flutter, attempting to take flight, but the wolfish man's grip was firm as he walked away from the metal slab.

Sir Loup joyously pranced around the dark room like a nimble horse, humming a merry tune as he carried a bundle of white cloth in his arms. He went to each monstrous person and gingerly placed a chef's hat upon their heads.

Manager Wolfe adjusted the tall hat on his head, and his furry grey ears flickered against the white fabric. Then he held a hand to his long snout and hollered: "_**Alright! Chef! Bring out the pot!**_"

On command, a one-eyed wolfman emerged from the shadows. Chef hobbled closer, his pegleg hindering his pace as he pulled a thick chain behind him. From the veil of darkness came a large trolley that held a gigantic iron cauldron. The cauldron wobbled on it's nest of crooked logs, water sloshing over the grimy edges.

Then Chef stopped walking and he dug through the stained apron around his plump waist while Sir Loup approached. The wolfman delicately placed a chef's hat upon the one-eyed wolfman's head before prancing off quickly. The thick stench of gasoline ripped through the air as Chef threw a tiny match onto the crooked logs, then he pocketed the matchbox.

Varg stalked closer to the bubbling cauldron and then tossed Birdie in with a large splash. The dove ducked beneath the water and popped back up quickly, desperate for air that only her nostrils could give her. She could barely stand, the soles of her feet barely touched the hot metal of the cauldron's bottom.

Birdie watched in horror as Sir Loup tossed in chopped onions, carrots, celery and potatoes while Räv sprinkled in seasoning. The water started to turn a murky brown and the aroma of fine spices filled the air. Birdie started to sweat even more, and her pale skin turned bright pink from the heat.

Chef stirred the stew with a large wooden spoon. Then he took a small testing spoon from his apron pocket and slurped the soup. He licked his chops thoughtfully before reaching for a pepper grinder.

Birdie let out a sneeze when the chef showered her in a flurry of black pepper.

"_36,_" Manager Wolfe snapped, a disappointed look in his dark eyes. "Don't sneeze in the stew. You'll ruin it."

Birdie stared at him with wide, terrified eyes that were filled with tears.

Manager Wolfe was not moved by her quiet plead. "Alright, Varg, Chef, put the lid on. We need to slow cook the stew for an hour before we can shred the meat off the bone and pluck the feathers."

Chef and Varg did as they were ordered and grabbed a hold of a cast iron lid resting behind the cauldron. The two villains hoisted it over Birdie's head, casting a dark shadow over her tiny form swamped in the bubbling stew. Before the two placed the lid on the cauldron, Räv reached out and removed the wrinkled duct tape from Birdie's mouth. In response, the dove let out the most pitiful cry for help. It was soft as a whisper, and hoarser than a croak.

"Oh boohoo," Räv mockingly sobbed. "Sorry, honey, but no one's gonna come. Not a soul knows you're here. Everyone thinks you went missin' after you got on the train." Then Räv held onto the large iron lid with a crooked grin. "Game over, bitch. It's time for your just desserts, _exactly_ like I promised," and she started to push the lid down.

Darkness enveloped Birdie and thick steam clouded her eyes. The steam billowed from the small crack between the lid and the cauldron's edge. The light grew thinner and thinner. She closed her eyes in defeat because she no longer had the strength to fight back. Her wings were soaked, sticky from the thick broth. Her body felt weak, completely numb by the heat. Her throat was so sore that she could barely squeak. It didn't matter; not anymore. There was no one that could save her now. It wasn't like she had a guardian angel watching over her—

Birdie's eyes snapped open wide when she remembered _him_. He said he would be watching over her. Maybe he was close by and could hear her pitiful cries with his mighty red feathers. She felt a burst of hope flood her heart, but it was quickly dried up when she realized there was a chance he wasn't nearby. He said he wanted to keep her safe, and when she was in the most danger, he had yet to appear.

_Just call for me…_

_...I know you'll call for me when you finally understand._

It was her only hope. It was the tiniest shred of hope she would cling to until the end. She opened her mouth, her cracked voice whispering in the meekest voice as the lid of the cauldron closed.

"..._Hawks_—"

She couldn't say anymore than that, and the lid sealed, trapping her in darkness.

Birdie hung her head and sobbed, and she bitterly hoped she tasted awful and gave all the cannibalistic monsters a stomach ache that would never go away. Even in her darkest hour, in complete darkness, she had a kick of her ill-timed humor. For once in her life, she hated it.

_**Crrrrrr—ACK.**_

The hideous sound assured her ears. Then a flood of bright white light blinded her eyes, and she felt like her own humor was biting back at her insult.

Chaos roared over the scene, cackling madly at the cannibalistic villains rushing around the disheveled warehouse in confusion. Steel shelves toppled over, spilled crates of packaged vegetables and shattered glass jars of exotic spices. The ingredients bounced, bumped, rolled and slid down an unnatural slope, pooling around the large cast iron lid sticking out from the cracked cement floor. Dark flurries orchestrated the mayhem from the shadows, like mischievous little imps zooming through the inky shadows.

The little specks flickered through the rays of artificial light, crimson blurs soaking the atmosphere as they pelted the villains mercilessly like an undefeated boxer in the ring.

"F—_Feathers!_"

Birdie's weary heart thumped wildly against her chest and her white wings fluttered in joy. Hope rushed through her veins like a dose of potent adrenaline, filling her with strength. "H—_**HAWKS!**_" She shrieked at the top of her lungs, ignoring the raw pain that bubbled in the pits of her throat.

At the sound of her cry, the hero smashed through the warehouse's large skylight window. His red wings were spread out wide as the moonlight cast a dark shadow over his heroic figure that left every jaw gaping in awe. Hawks dove from the sky as a barrage of red feathers darted from his wings and collided with the caldron, knocking it over in one single swoop.

Birdie yelped, but her tiny voice was drowned out by the cauldron's sharp groan against the cracked logs and a raw scream of fear. _Crrunch_. The cauldron's iron side crashed against the cement, and a wave of hot stew flooded the floor. Birdie slid along the current, chunks of carrots and potatoes piling up at her legs and feet.

The cold air against her red skin made her hiss in pain, but then she inhaled sharply.

She stared at the cauldron, her mind processing the image of a furry arm sticking out from the large iron cast caldron like a witch beneath a tiny Kansas house.

Hawks gently landed, his feet never making a sound. The hollow look above his buttoned collar scanned the room, causing the dazed villains to shudder in the dark aura radiating from the hero's stiff figure.

"Shit, it's _him!_" A bead of sweat appeared on Varg's scarred brow as he started to back away slowly, repelled by the hero's presence.

"_Don't you dare!_" Manager Wolfe barked, scowling at the wolfish man. "_Get him!_"

A wicked sneer graced Räv's ruby lips. "With _pleasure_," and she leapt at the hero.

Her nails expanded, the long crimson keratin glistening in the moonlight like tapered shanks. The hollow glare in Hawks' amber eyes never wavered as he easily sidestepped Räv's swift attack. Then he reached out, snaring her hair within his grasp as she tumbled by. His gloved fingers dug into her scalp as he whirled around with his prey caught in his talons. His red wings beat against the air, kicking up a violent draft as he floated against the warehouse. Hawks dragged Räv along until he came to an abrupt stop, slamming the side of Räv's head onto the metal slab. Räv screamed and blood gushed from her mouth from the pressure. Hawks peeled her head away and then smashed her temple against the metal again, and again, and again.

He continued the brutal onslaught until thick red ooze made Räv's face swell. The tan material of the hero's suede jacket was soiled with red splatter. Räv flailed her arms, struggling against the hero, but a twisted _crack_ and _snap_ made her bloodied body eerily limp.

Varg roared a blood-curdling bellow, his tone raw with emotion. The hesitation he once showed morphed into rage as the wolfish man charged the hero. Varg's sharp nails grew five times longer, but Hawks retaliated by chucking Räv's cold body at the wolfish man. The bloodied corpse collided mercilessly with Varg's chest, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him to the floor in a daze.

A dark flash flickered against the hero's empty amber eyes. Hawks' longest flight feathers darted into his hands, the crimson plumes looked as sharp as steel. The two feathers danced in his grasp as the hero parried the twin attacks from Manager Wolfe and Sir Loup. The two wolfmen's long claws bounced off the feather's stiff bristles and they were thrown back by the force. The two briefly slid back along the floor before bouncing off the balls of their heels to assault the hero's flanks once more.

Hawks gracefully ducked, and his wings flittered against the stagnant air, creating a small draft that his feathers soared against. He slid along the floor like the cement transformed into slippery ice, and a hailstorm of red flurries darted from his wings like bullets.

Sir Loup choked on blood when the sharp feathers pierced through the skin of his arms, chest and abdomen. The plumes turned a darker shade of murky red as they retracted from Sir Loup's battered body and then plummeted into him again, slicing clean through. Blood trickled from Sir Loup's quivering snout before he fell to his knees and then face first onto the floor.

Manager Wolfe's dark eyes opened wide. "H—How can feathers—?"

"Heroes are always adapting," Hawks' chilling voice whispered behind the manager, the hero wielding a long flight feather in his hand like a sword. "To deal with monsters like you," then with one clean slice, Manager Wolfe's head flew from his shoulders and soar through the air.

The furry cranium bounced along the floor until it lost momentum and rolled into Varg's leg. There were still stars circling the wolfish man's head as he laid sprawled out on the floor with Räv's lifeless body laying across his chest. Then a dozen red feathers rained down from the heavens into his wrists, jolting the wolfish man awake with a scream as his hands were severed from his arms.

Hawks' blood stained boots made ripples in the puddles of red as he stalked closer to Varg. A dark shadow crossed the hero's empty eyes and his grip tightened around the long feather in his hand. The hero loomed over the withering wolfish man as he held up his blood stained feather and pierced Varg's groin.

Birdie's eyes were wide as she watched Hawks stab Varg over and over again until the wolfish man's cries ceased. All the hero's loose feathers drifted lazily back to his wings, blood dripping from the damp plumes. Hawks symbolic hero gear was tarnished in murky red and he reeked of potent iron. Slowly, he turned his attention toward her.

Hawks closed his eyes and his eyebrows perked up into two high arches. "You called for me," there was a chipper expression above the button collar of his jacket. "I knew you'd understand if I just gave you a little time to think. I was waiting, but I got impatient. If you'd been in that pot a minute longer I'd have swooped in whether you called or not."

He strolled over to her, his bloody footprints dissolving in the brown stew that flooded the floor. He shed the soiled suede jacket from his shoulders as he crouched down before her. He wrapped the jacket around her bare shoulders, and Birdie's little white wings flicked through the large holes in the back.

The dove stared at him, her wide emerald eyes trained on the blood splatter. His black under armor was spotless, but his gloves and pants were decorated with an uneven red pattern. It spread across the material, soaking into each and every fiber. His blue visor had a splash of crimson, heavy liquid drops rolled down the tinted plexiglas and trickled onto the hero's tan cheek. His feathers fidgeted, sticky with blood. The plumes fluttered, spraying red rain into the spilled stew on the cement floor. Birdie's brow turned an unsettling shade of purple as all the blood rushed to her head, leaving her skin a sickly shade of white. The stench of iron penetrated her nostrils, murdering her sense of smell like as if a rusty blade stabbed her mind. She covered her mouth, but it could not stop the taste of blood on her tongue and she gagged.

Concern flashed across Hawks' eyes when he saw her hunch and violently cough. He placed a hand on her back, gently patting and rubbing.

Birdie slowly looked up, staring at him with a wild look in her wide emerald eyes. "W—W-W-What did you do_?_" She hugged her arms, covering herself protectively. "You...you k—k-k-_killed_ them…"

Hawks was silent for a moment, observing her closely. The worried look on his features disappeared, vanishing into the empty void of his eyes. "I had to handle this case..._directly_," he finally spoke, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Then he reached forward and gingerly buttoned up the jacket, cocooning the dove's bare skin in his large jacket. "They made me angry," he paused. "_Very angry_."

Birdie stirred restlessly where she sat, and the stew made small ripples around her. His words were short, but they were sharp and heavy. She felt a chill travel down her spine at his icy tone. "W—_Why?_"

"Because they are monsters," Hawks replied. "They lost their humanity and were beyond any hope of repair. The best method of atonement is..._elimination_. However, I took this case…_personally_. _Very personally_."

"D—Did you have to?" Birdie meekly asked.

"Of course," Hawks was blunt. "They did not offer you any mercy, so I did the same. They got what they deserved."

Birdie trembled when she heard his cruel words. They were words she _agreed_ with. When she was in that hellish moment, she called them monsters. They were monsters that wanted to _kill_, _cook_ and _eat_ her. They planned out her demise for _weeks_ with no remorse. They treated her no different than a piece of chicken breast labeled _36_. Hawks was right; they didn't deserve any mercy; they showed no mercy to her, and also to the other 35 victims that ended up on their plates.

"Does that upset you?" Hawks' inquiry broke the dove's train of thought. "It upset you last time when punishment was brought down on that delivery boy."

Birdie froze, her muscles tense. She remembered how Fox, someone she cared for, turned out to be another hideous monster in disguise. He wore such a convincing mask of deception that she would have never known the truth until it was too late. She felt more at ease about that night because now she knew the truth. All the worries and fears about the hero flitted away in that instance.

Hawks _was_ protecting her; he was _always_ protecting her.

A rush of emotions overcame her like a violent slap across her face. Tears started to bubble up from the corner of her eyes and her cheeks flushed a rosy shade of red. More salty tears stained her skin as she loudly sobbed and threw herself against him, burying her face to his chest. "I—I'm s—s-s-s-so—r-r-r-yyy—!" She hiccuped through her cries. Her tiny hands slipped under his arms to cling to his back, her fingers curling against the smooth fabric of his under armor. "I—I sh-sh-should have listened to you—!"

Hawks wrapped his arms around her quickly, drawing her close in a warm embrace. "No, no, Birdie," he cooed and shook his head, nuzzling his cheek against her damp hair. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault. It will never be your fault. It's _their_ fault. _They_ were the ones that hurt you, and so many others for their inhuman greed. But it's okay now. You are finally _safe_."

"Th—Thank you…" Birdie sniffled, her shoulders quivering. "Th—Thank you for coming. I was s—so scared that you wouldn't come…"

Hawks stroked her hair, his gloved fingers weaving through her damp curls. "Please don't be scared. Please don't worry anymore," and he hugged her, squeezing tightly. "I'll always be there for you. Whenever you call, I'll be there."

Birdie closed her eyes and melted into his warmth. It was so protective and welcoming; she found it so hard to believe that she was scared of Hawks: a _hero_. His actions were unorthodox, but in the end, he was still a hero. He protected the innocent from the villains. That thought made her feel so calm, but that moment was short lived.

Hawks' head suddenly perked up and his wings stirred zealously behind his back. His gaze darted around the room, his eyes flickering back and forth like a hound tracking a sound in the dead of night. His brows furrowed into a tight knot and his wings stiffened into sharp curls as he smothered the dove to his chest protectively. He was on high alert. A dark shadow crossed his eyes as he shot up, dragging Birdie with him.

"We can't stay here," Hawks was brief, his tone tight around his words. His wings spread out wide, the large red plumes kicking up a draft. They beat against the air, and the hero swiftly took flight with Birdie in his grasp.

Hawks raced through the broken skylight window, soaring into the night sky speckled with millions of tiny white stars. The wind lashed against Birdie's skin as she watched the warehouse grow smaller and smaller over the hero's shoulder. The large building appeared peacefully in the darkness, the steel structure nestled between the trees of a dense forest.

Then there was a roar. Waves of unbearable heat traveled through the air, the night sky consumed by a brilliant orange light that rivalled sunlight. Birdie gasped and clung to the hero, locking her arms around his neck. She stared, her wide emerald eyes overwhelmed with horror as she witnessed a ferocious blaze devour hundreds of trees, cooking the forest until there was nothing but ash and cinder.

Surrounding the flames were bright red and blue lights. They danced against the leaves like tiny wisps floating through the woods. On the wind, she heard faint sirens brushed past her ears.

"I informed the police," Hawks mumbled. "I told them to be cautious of fire and gasoline."

Birdie glanced at him, blinking wildly. He spoke as if he knew this would happen. He _had_ to if he warned the police, but was it because _he_ started the fire? _No, Birdie,_ she shook her head, _that's impossible. If he did something like that, he would have never told the police. If he wanted to get away with arson, he wouldn't inform them, Birdie. Warning the police would point a big red target on his back when they found a hint of evidence._

Hawks noticed her intense stare. He sent her a charming smile, and he cradled the back of her head with his hand. Then his brows furrowed, a puzzled look on his face. Slowly, he pulled a section of her wet hair away with his hand to see that the strains were knotted around a large potato chunk. He blinked, stunned for a moment. He gently tugged on the potato, the tender starch falling apart like putty between his fingers, and then he chucked the bits over his shoulder. Birdie stared at the vegetable that fluttered through the air like a little patch of snow falling to the ground. Hawks pursed his lips as his gloved fingers ran through her wet hair. Then he plucked a thick slice of carrot from behind her ear.

Hawks blinked.

Birdie blinked.

"You need a bath."

"You are tactless."

Hawks smiled wryly as he flung the carrot slice over his shoulder. "I thought tactless humor was one of your fortès?"

"_Ill-timed humor_," Birdie corrected. "I only make jokes about myself, not others because that is _tactless_."

"Touché," Hawks chuckled as he pulled two slices of celery from the nape of her neck.

Birdie scowled at him and pinched his cheek until his skin turned red.

"_Oooow_…" Hawks whined as the dove tugged on his cheek harshly. He winced in pain, and the bits of vegetables slipped from his fingers. "I'll stop, I'll stop, I'll stop."

Birdie let go with a satisfied huff and then rested her chin against his shoulder, settling in for the flight. Hawks flew across the night sky, gliding through the dark clouds as the full moon chased them. Small towns and cities dotted the landscape below, the houses and roads so tiny that it looked like ants harbored there instead of people. Then the hero drifted from the clouds, losing altitude quickly as a large lake drew closer. The dark water rippled violently in the wind, distorting their reflection as the hero flew near the surface.

Hawks tightened his grip on her, his wings stalling for a brief moment so his legs swung underneath him and dangled above the lake. "Hold on tight," he firmly warned her as he split through the air like a rock, plummeting into the water feet first.

The water enveloped them, and bubbles swirled around them. A cold chill sent painful shivers down the dove's spine, and the slimy lake-bed brushed against her bare toes. Hawks kicked against the muddy surface and his body follow the momentum, pushing through the water until they broke the surface once more. Birdie gasped for air, clinging tightly to the hero's neck. She trembled violently, but Hawks was calm as he waded through the water. His wings splashed against the surface, causing waves to ripple around them. Birdie looked over Hawks' shoulder, watching a trail of red appear in the moon's distorted reflection. The lake's surface got lower and lower, and when the water was at their ankles, Hawks finally let her go. He gently placed her feet on the ground, but his hands hovered around her just in case she lost her balance. Birdie was able to stand on her own, though she shivered with chattering teeth and quivered beneath the soaked suede jacket she wore.

"Head inside," Hawks told her, pointing to a tiny wooden shack beside the lake behind them. "The key is in my inner pocket," and then he pointed to the dove's chest. "There's a large metal chest inside. Super high-tech lookin'; can't miss it. There's some towels in there and some of my spare civvy clothes. Use anything you like."

Birdie dumbly nodded and did as she was told. She stumbled over to the shack. The wood paneling was cracked by thick vines, and the walls were constricted by three twisted trees. The dove unlocked the rickety door with a tiny copper key, but then she looked over her shoulder when she heard a large splash behind her.

Hawks had ventured back into the deeper waters of the lake. His large wings flapped wildly against the murky surface, creating a glistening spiral of water that reflected the pale light of the moon. She was mesmerized by the sight: Hawks truly looked like a bird bathing in the water. Then she saw the flash of red, and it wasn't the lovely shade of crimson that belonged to his wings. The dark hue caused a chill to run down her spine when she saw the moon's reflection turn blood red. Birdie inhaled sharply, the smell of blood tickling her nose. It still lingered in the fabric of the suede jacket wrapped around her shoulders. She shuddered and quickly headed inside the shack to shed the tainted clothing in privacy.

The little shack was just as tiny inside as it looked on the outside. It was cluttered with dusty crates filled with old fishing gear. Frayed nets and snapped poles stuck out from the wooden boxes and littered the floor. There was one stone wall among the wood ones, and built within the bricks was a large fireplace filled with soot and cracked ebony logs. In the corner was a clean futon laid out, and beside it was the metal chest the hero spoke of. The steel surface stood out like a sore thumb among the wood, and there was a faint red light glowing on the lid, the hero's hawk-head logo pulsating in the middle.

Birdie's hand hovered of the red light, and the chest beeped loudly. A flash of compressed air rushed from the cracked lid, steam wafting out as the chest slowly opened on its own. Inside there was a set of large maroon towels, a folded pile of men's clothing, and a large black metal case.

The stained suede coat was thrown in the corner as the dove picked a towel and dried off. The scent of blood withered away as she put on a simple grey T-shirt and matching sweatpants. Everything was two sizes too big, but she wasn't going to complain. Then she sat down on the floor beside the chest, patiently watching the door.

Hawks walked in soon after. The dark stains in his clothing and feathers were gone as clear drops of water fell alongside his footsteps. He tugged on the tight fabric of his under armor, pulling it over his head and then chucked it into the fireplace. A few large feathers drifted from his wings as he tossed his visor on top of his sooty shirt. The red plumes floated through the air, retrieving the suede coat and placed it in the pile as Hawks began to take off his pants.

Birdie looked away and closed her eyes. She heard his wet footsteps wander around the room and the rustle of clothing. When she opened her eyes, she saw that Hawks was dressed in his hero gear once more.

His outfit was dry, save for a few wet spots on his back and shoulders that were caused by his damp hair and feathers. Hawks closed the large black case and placed it back in the chest before walking toward the fireplace.

In one gloved hand was a small vial while the other held a lighter. The hero tossed the vial into the fireplace, an odorless dark brown liquid coating the clothing in the pile. Steam rose from the material and started to pop like firecrackers. Then Hawks crouched down and with a metallic _snap_, the lighter flickered with life that spread onto the pile of clothing in the fireplace.

The tiny shack was filled with warmth and light as the fire danced and crackled, consuming the fabric within.

Hawks sat down beside the large fireplace, his back facing the cackling flames. His damp feathers curled in the dry heat, bristling in and out as the tiny water droplets slowly shrunk in size. The hero looked over at her, the warm glow of the fire highlighting the softness in his amber eyes as he gently pat the space beside him, inviting Birdie to sit.

She crawled over and curled up into a ball, pulling her legs close to her chest and tucking her chin between her knees. The heat of the fire against her back was welcoming, like a warm embrace meant to do nothing but melt away worries. Then she closed her eyes and her thoughts started to roam. She slowly processed all that had happened to her without a surging rush of overwhelming fear and anxiety. The threat on her live was gone: _eliminated_. That thought was surreal and otherworldly to her. It felt like a dream. Then she glanced at Hawks from the corner of her eyes.

He was sitting silently, his wings fidgety from the water that clung to his feathers. He noticed her stare and sent her a small smile that charmed her soul.

It wouldn't be unreasonable to think she was dreaming still since the hero became a common occurrence in her dreams. She was pleased that the nightmares ended and the sight of his red wings filled her heart with hope instead of fear.

"Once my wings are dry, I'll take you to the hospital." Hawks broke the silence. He sent her a stern look; his lips pulled into a tight frown. "No buts, understand?"

Birdie nodded.

"Good," the harshness on his features softened. Then he reached out, his fingers weaving around her drying curls. "I want a professional to look over you…"

Birdie didn't feel any pain and she didn't show any external injuries either. Though, her skin still had small splotches of pink, but they were slowly dissolving into a healthy shade of ivory peach. When she thought about it calmly, the stew never reached a true boiling point; she wasn't in the pot long enough. If anything, it was like a very hot bath. However, she didn't point this fact out to him. Not even she could assess what was hidden away beneath the surface of her skin. _If_ there was any. She was still under the suspicion that her nightmare was not among the living, but rather among the sleeping.

Hawks stroked her hair, twirling the ivory curls around his finger. A shadow crossed his eyes and the worried look on his face created a deep wrinkle on his brow. "If anything hurts…" he paused, suddenly choked up on the words, and he pursed his lips into a thin line. He shifted his body around to face her directly and placed his hands on her shoulders. There was a wild look of desperation in his eyes. "_Please_ just wait a few more minutes. I promise I'll get you the treatment you need. Anything you need, I will cover it. Alright?"

"...Alright," she nodded slowly, and then she placed her hands on his shoulders. "Please calm down. I'll be okay, so take your time. No buts, understand?"

Hawks chuckled lightly, and he rested his forehead against hers. "I'm so glad your safe, Birdie." He whispered. "I really am happy I was able to save you."

Birdie stared at him, watching the worry melt away like snow under the hot sun and his expression blossomed in tranquility. Then she reached out and cupped his cheeks, her fingertips caressing his tan skin. She traced the tiny marking at the corners of his eyes, seeing that they were one with his skin like little unique birthmarks. Her thumbs brushed against his pink tinted cheeks; they were warm and soft. The heat pierced her senses, reality settling in. He wasn't just a vivid presence in her dreams, he was _real_. He didn't save her from a fictional concoction fabricated by her mind, but he saved her from something _real_.

Hawks closed his eyes, completely still as she frantically rubbed her palms against his skin. His demeanor was calm and collected as he allowed her to touch him, but his wings betrayed his feelings. They flittered happily, the damp feathers flinging water around the tiny shack.

She couldn't feel the same cool composure. She couldn't ignore the festering thoughts that came to her mind. They felt vile in her mouth and poisoned her mind.

"Hawks."

"_Hmm?_" He hummed, cracking open an eye to peek at her curiously.

"How..." her lip started to quiver. "How many people have you killed?"

"I've never killed a _person_," Hawks was blunt, a blank look crossing his amber eyes. "_Monsters_, on the other hand, have been dealt punishment. I won't save a creature that has lost its humanity. Guidance to judgement is the most pity I will offer."

Birdie pursed her lips in thought. "Like with Fox, when you didn't save him from that truck… You dealt with him..._indirectly_, but with the others..." she trailed off. She held his face firmly in her hands, staring intently at the dead look in his eyes. "Why change now? Why...why _directly?_"

"You," a soft glow came to his amber irises as he placed his hands over hers. Then he closed his eyes, a peaceful expression overwhelming his features. "I will do anything to save you. That's my fate, and nothing will stop me."

Birdie blinked. "That doesn't make any sense at all."

"It makes sense to me," he mused. "That's all that matters."

"But…"

"No buts~"

Birdie pouted, unsatisfied with the answer. "Just don't put me through anymore _incidents_," she added. "I don't think my heart can take another scare like this. The Grim Reaper probably has me on speed dial."

Hawks was silent for a moment. He squeezed her hands, pressing them against his cheeks as he shifted restlessly where he sat. There was a tiny look of disappointment in his eyes as he asked: "How else am I going to see you?"

Birdie sighed. _Heavily_. She had a hunch he was following her. Granted, he pretty much admitted to it the previous night, which meant he _did_ bring danger to her. She didn't know if he was doing it on purpose or accidentally, but at that point it didn't matter. Hawks had at least proven that he'd save her no matter what.

She sighed again. Lighter this time.

Birdie wiggled her hands from his grasp. "...Here," she reached out to his wing, gently tugging on one of his smaller red feathers. The plume would not budge, but then it easily slipped through her fingers and then drifted into her open palm. She clasped her hands over the feather and held it close to her chest. "If I have this, then you'll always know where I am, right?"

Hawks was stunned into silence, his jaw gaping open wide. He stared at her, dumbfounded for a moment before he smiled brightly. His wings flapped happily against his back as he lunged forward. "Yes!" And he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly. "Of course!"

Birdie squeaked in his embrace, crushed by his joy, but she didn't try to wiggle away. Instead she snuggled in close to him, enjoying how safe she felt in his arms.


	7. Episode 1: Hunger, Chapter VII

**Birds of a Feather**

**Episode 1: Hunger**

**Chapter**** VII: August 8th**

Birdie rested against the very plush and large pillows of the extremely comfy medical bed. The room was like a suite; decorated more like a hotel room rather than a hospital room. The sterile shade of white was replaced with dark, soothing hues of red. The ivory tiles were covered by a giant, fluffy maroon rug, the red walls were adorned with oil paintings of nature, and crimson curtains were drawn back with gold ribbons to reveal the full moon high in the sky. There was a tiny nook beside the window that was arranged like a living room. Two small black sofas were positioned beside the window and a wooden table was placed between them. On the table was a basket of packaged pastries: cookies, cakes, muffins and cinnamon rolls.

Birdie fiddled with the red comforter, staring at the treats intensely. She felt her mouth watering and her stomach started to twist into an uncomfortable knot. She was ready to rip off the covers and leap out of bed, but then she saw Hawks stand up from his seat beside her bed.

The hero seemed to sense what she desired and walked over to the table. "Which one do you want?"

"_Everything,_" Birdie was blunt.

Hawks didn't question her. Without hesitation, the hero scooped up the entire arrangement of goodies and then placed the basket on her lap. Birdie rooted through the basket and picked out the largest sugar cookie that she could find. It was covered in rainbow sprinkles, _rainbow sprinkles_ in the shape of _rainbows_ and _unicorns_. She was enraptured by the overload of sugar, happily munching on the sweetness until it was devoured into nothing but crumbs. Then she moved onto the next treat, and the next, and the next. While she ate the cookies, the cakes, _all_ the sweets, Hawks silently returned to his seat. His red wing fluttered happily behind his back as he played with a feather and a piece of twine in his hands. It was the tiny red feather that Birdie had picked from his wing and a thin piece of black twine. He tinkered with the two objects until he combined them into a necklace. The hero hummed in satisfaction, pleased with his work. Then he leaned forward and placed the necklace around Birdie's neck.

Birdie stopped. One hand held onto a large blueberry muffin wrapped in plastic, and the other touched the feather; the bristles seemed to breath against her skin. Her fingertips brushed against the tiny crimson plume, her lips pursed in thought. Then she nodded and looked toward the hero, holding out the muffin to him.

Hawks chuckled and accepted her gift, tearing off the wrapper and taking a bite.

The two sat in comfortable silence, relaxing in the moment that belonged to them. Birdie continued to fill her empty stomach with pure sugar, and Hawks took the time to throw away the trash when the wrappers piled up on the blanket. It was a tranquil atmosphere, especially since the pair had garnered a lot of attention the moment they entered the hospital.

Hawks had carried Birdie bridal-style into the hospital lobby, causing a spiral of whispers to swirl around them; hundreds of curious eyes had followed them closely. Nurse Sheep nearly fainted after squealing in of pure delight, and Nurse Bluejay was thoroughly unamused. The only nurse capable to help them in the middle of the night was the quiet Nurse Bunny.

The tiny, round woman had listened to the hero's brief explanation, and she complied to the commands readily. In a matter of minutes, Birdie had been whisked away to an examination room and treated by a group of doctors. Multiple tests were conducted, but nothing conclusive was found on the surface. A thorough analysis was needed, so Birdie was given the very comfy red room filled with sweets to rest in while she waited to hear the results of her tests. Hawks made sure she was given the best room to recover in, and he was either by her side or close by. Whenever she saw him, he wore a warm smile, but the dove noticed that his smile wavered.

"Is something wrong?" She inquired worriedly, offering him a cinnamon bun.

Hawks ignored the treat and instead reached out to touch her. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb caressing her skin. "They…did a lot to you," he murmured. "They did so much. _Too_ much."

Birdie blinked, then pursed her lips in thought. A lot had happened to her in the course of seven days, but she felt extremely calm. She didn't even realize it until the hero mentioned something about it. She couldn't bring herself to worry about her past experience, and she knew why. "But you _saved_ me," she replied, smiling as her hand covered his. "I have nothing to fear when you're here next to me."

Hawks eyes opened wide and he gasped, his jaw slack. He stared at her for a moment before a cheerful expression came to his features. He closed his eyes as he smiled brightly from ear to ear, a pink blush decorating his cheeks.

Then the door opened, ruining the tiny moment between the pair. Birdie yelped, pulling away in embarrassment and Hawks huffed, rather annoyed. Though, his annoyance faltered when he saw who was standing in the doorway, and Birdie's red cheeks turned an icy shade of white.

"May I have a moment of your time, Miss Birdie."

It was Detective Shepherd. The old dog stood in the open doorway with his head held high. There was a hard look on his features; his ears laid flat against his head and his lips curled slightly to reveal the tips of his sharp fangs. Behind the detective was a small group of police officers, and the men in blue wore emotionless expressions like masks.

Birdie fidgeted anxiously in her seat. She put the cinnamon bun in her hand back in the basket and grabbed her wing, holding it tightly. "Y—Yes."

"_Alone,_" Detective Shepherd eyed the hero coldly.

Birdie started to pluck feathers from her wing, her hands trembling slightly.

Hawks was silent for a moment, a blank look in his amber eyes. Then he sighed, his shoulders dropping dramatically. "I get the picture," he stood up from his seat. "I'll leave, I'll leave. I should fill out the incident report sooner rather than later."

Birdie felt a wave of panic flood her heart and she snared the hem of his jacket with her fingers. The hero had been by her side or within arms reach since the moment he saved her. She wanted to be near him, especially since the detective looked rather upset.

Hawks looked down at the dove, sending her a sweet smile as his fingers brushed against her pale cheek. "I'll be back soon, Birdie."

Birdie whined, biting her lip as she let go of the hero and then he exited the room, disappearing into the small sea of policemen in the hallway.

Detective Shepherd stepped further in, closing the door along the way. The harsh expression on the old dog's face softened as he looked at Birdie, a sympathetic gleam in his dark eyes. "I hope you are recovering well."

Birdie relaxed slightly when she saw the rage quell from the detective's dark eyes. "I'm managing," she replied. "I think I will pull through."

Detective Shepherd nodded as he walked over to her bed. "Miss Birdie," the detective grunted as he sat down on the chair. "We have reason to believe that Hawks went out of line with his investigation, and we will need your statement on the matter."

Birdie felt a bead of sweat on her brow, and she couldn't hide the worried look in her eyes. "W—What...do you mean?" She tried to mask her concern with a blend of confusion. She knew _exactly_ what the detective meant, and she didn't want the hero to get in trouble with the police.

"Since you are a key witness, I will explain," Detective Shepherd stated, settling in for the lengthy explanation. "There has been a string of missing person cases in the past three years involving individuals with bird-like quirks, similar to yourself. We found evidence that led us to believe they were being…_eaten_. You see, Miss Birdie, a bloated, male head resembling a cardinal was found in a canal five months after his disappearance. His skull was covered in large bite marks. Teeth marks that resembled a _wolf's_. As reports rolled in every month and as we investigated the background of these victims, we saw that a few cases had two things in common: bird quirks and the Wolfe Family. Most of the victims worked for the Wolfe Family in some fashion before they disappeared, and each month another one of their employees would go missing. We thought we had a solid lead, Miss Birdie, but that was not the case. Even after a thorough investigation of the Wolfe Family estate and assets, we found _nothing_. The Wolfe Family had no prior incidents of violence, after all. However, we couldn't drop our investigation because they were under the suspicion of _cannibalism_. This led to the theory that the Wolfe Family quirk evolved, causing them to have more animalistic qualities to their quirk beside their wolfish appearance. That is why we contacted Hawks, and he was assigned to the case. He was ordered to either prove or disprove that theory. If proven, he was then tasked with stopping the operation as it falls within his obligations as a hero to stop citizens who misuse their quirks: villains, as you know."

Birdie pursed her lips in thought. She already knew most of what the detective said; he just helped bundle all the information together into something she could grasp and understand. However, she knew a tiny bit _more_ than the detective did, and she didn't want to disclose that information for the hero's sake.

"How...How do you think he went out of line?" Birdie inquired calmly.

"That is what I'm here to ask _you_, Miss Birdie," and a harsh glare flashed across the detective's dark eyes. "That night in the alley, you were not on the lines of hysteria because of the incident involving Fox like Hawks claimed, correct? Did Hawks' actions appear outside the realm a what a hero should do?"

"He saved me," Birdie was short.

"I'm aware he has saved you. Apparently you are a magnet for trouble and he has saved you from multiple..._incidents._"

"I'm very unlucky."

"Is that so."

"Yes."

Birdie could tell the detective was trying to provoke her, but she wouldn't give in to his petty attempt to make her talk, which only irritated the old dog even more. Birdie remained as calm as she could while Detective Shepherd watched her. There was a long stretch of silence between them. Then tension was so stiff that it snapped when the detective sighed loudly.

"I need you to cooperate, Miss Birdie," he told her, growling lightly in annoyance. "You were at the scene. The building has been leveled without a trace of evidence left behind. Safe for _you_. We need to know if Hawks is still a trustworthy hero."

"Then I'm happy to make a statement that he _is_ a trustworthy hero," Birdie replied, her wings fluttering with confidence around her shoulders. "He says what he means, and does what he says."

Detective Shepherd paused. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees and then weaved his fingers together. He stared at her, and his sharp gaze made her shift in her seat. "I didn't want to tell you this, Miss Birdie, but it's seems like I have no choice." He told her. "A week ago, you were drugged."

Birdie blinked, confused by his words. "_Excuse me?_"

"It is a chemical that numbs the body and then renders a person unconscious," Detective Shepherd explained. "Your boss had this same chemical mixed in a shipment of tea we found in his car. We believed it was to be used on their victims for easy capture."

"Well, that makes sense…" Birdie nodded in agreement. "Mana—Mister Wolfe did offer me tea. It was the last thing I remembered before waking up in that warehouse, but what does that have to do with _last week?_ I couldn't have been drugged; I didn't drink any of that tea!"

"That is what Hawks told you, is it not? He told me differently the night Fox died."

Birdie felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. "...What?"

"Nurse Sheep went against protocol that night. She asked Hawks to give you the results of your examination and blood tests. He was drawn to the strange chemical you ingested. Now, Miss Birdie, Hawks is a smart man. A _very_ smart man. He connected the dots: drugs, bird quirk, an employee to the suspects. He had a lead."

Birdie shifted in her seat, growing more and more uncomfortable with the detective's line of logic.

Detective Shepherd held up a single finger. "One week ago, in your purse, was the same exact bottle of tea that Fox gave you two nights ago. One week ago, someone gave you that tea and tried to capture you, but failed. Two nights ago, Fox tried to give you that tea, but lost his life trying to do so. Last night, Wolfe gave you that tea and succeed in subduing and capturing you, but at a cost. He and the operation literally went up in flames." Then the detective pointed to her. "You were Hawks' perfect piece of _bait._"

Birdie opened her mouth to speak, but the detective cut her off.

"Don't try and say otherwise, or that you agreed to help him," Detective Shepherd added. "The look on your face says otherwise, Miss Birdie. He is one that follows a code: the ends justifies the means. It's why the government gives him tasks like these. He's not afraid to take risks, but he went too far this time. That is what I believe."

Birdie bit her lip and looked away. Her stomach twisted into unbearable knots and the pain made her shake.

Was she hoodwinked? Bamboozled? Fooled? Played like a fiddle? Fox had used sweetness to play with her emotions like putty to get what he wanted; did the hero do the same? Minutes ago, she was fully determined to defend Hawks at all costs so he wouldn't get in trouble for saving her the way he did. She was going to _lie_ for him, which meant she would be unwittingly an _accomplice_ just because _how_ he saved her. The idea that Hawks used her as bait and used flirtation to charm her was unsettling, but she couldn't ignore the fact that he _saved_ her.

Birdie closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in and then out. "Detective Shepherd…" the dove looked back at the detective, smiling gently. "Sometimes good people will use an unorthodox method for good reasons."

Detective Shepherd was silent for a moment, staring at her. "Should I consider this confirmation that Hawks _did_, in fact, cross the line, Miss Birdie?"

Birdie shook her head. "Just because his methods were unorthodox to save me doesn't mean they are wrong. I mean, look at yourself, Detective Shepherd. I know you are a good man, but using this kind of manipulation to extract information from a recovering victim is…_unorthodox_, but I understand your intentions are good. You are worried and want to know the truth. So, I will stand by my statement: Hawks is a trustworthy hero."

Detective Shepherd was silent as he observed her closely, but then he sighed. "…I see, I will take that as your final statement. However…_Hawks_," the detective addressed the hero, barking the name roughly. "Don't think I don't know you are listening. I can see that little feather of yours around her neck."

A moment of silence hung in the air. Detective Shepherd rose from the seat and turned around to see the door open slowly and the hero appeared.

"...You rang," Hawks answered. The hero glanced at the detective briefly before his eyes flickered to Birdie and he smiled. Hawks took a step into the room, but the detective held out a hand to stop the hero from advancing. Hawks scowled at Detective Shepherd, a defiant look burning in his eyes as he grabbed the old dog's arm to remove the obstacle.

"Your license is under suspension until my investigation is complete," Detective Shepherd declared boldly.

Hawks was stunned by the words, blinking rapidly, and Detective Shepherd was able to shake the hero's hand from his arm.

"_What?!_" Birdie gasped, and she covered her gaping mouth. "But that's not fair! I told you—!"

"It's okay, Birdie." Hawks recovered quickly, sending her a comforting smile to try and ease her worries.

Then he looked back at the detective. "I understand," he replied calmly. "I have nothing to hide. You may hurt my rankings, but I haven't been the first high ranking hero with a suspended license before. Nor will I be the last."

Detective Shepherd scowled at the hero. "You're also not allowed to see Miss Birdie until the case on your possible misconduct is concluded."

The life drained from his amber eyes; the hero was not pleased with the detective's commands.

"She may be a victim, but she is also an important witness," Detective Shepherd continued. "One that is being extremely _vague_ about _your_ actions. It is suspicious, so we will keep you two separated until I see fit."

Birdie felt her blood go cold; her skin turned white from the icy chill. She thought her words would be enough to protect Hawks, but she was wrong. All she did was agitate the detective even more when she didn't give him what he wanted.

"You're treating her like a _suspect,_" Hawks' tone was cold. "She is a _victim_, Shepherd_._"

"I won't know that until I know the _truth_, Hawks," Detective Shepherd snapped back. "If I need to treat her like _your _accomplice, so be it."

Hawks growled in response, and when he saw the dove flinch in fear, his anger boiled over. "_You bas_—"

"_Enough,_" Detective Shepherd barked. "We have no time for this. Not when there is _much_ we have to discuss down at the station."

Hawks glowered at the detective who waited impatiently for the hero to leave the room. The hero's red feathers contorted into sharp curls and he bit his lip to stop the livid tremble. Then the rage in his eyes flickered briefly to concern when he glanced at the dove. Birdie was a sickly shade of white as she plucked more and more feathers from her wings, a large pile of white plumes on her lap.

"Just give me five minutes."

"Do you realize how suspicious that sounds?" Detective Shepherd snorted.

"You _scared_ her," Hawks countered. "I just want to reassure her that everything will be fine since you obviously won't. So, give me five minutes. You can stand in here and watch; I don't care."

"I refuse," Detective Shepherd was harsh and ignored the hero's plead. "Now, move. We don't have time to waste any longer," then the old dog grabbed the hero by the collar and started to drag him out of the room.

"_Wait!_" Birdie threw back the covers, the basket of treats falling off her lap as she stumbled out of bed, but her legs were weak. They gave out from underneath her, and she crumbled to the floor, but that didn't stop her from pitifully reaching out to him. Tears started to swell in the corner of her eyes, and her cheeks flushed a rosy shade of red. "_Hawks!_"

A heartbroken expression suddenly overwhelmed the hero's features, melting away the anger when he saw her reaction. Hawks desperately reached out to her and open his mouth, trying to say something.

Then the door was slammed in his face, silencing any attempt.

Birdie stared at the door, her hand weakly falling to the floor. The noise was muted; so muffled that all she could hear was the rustle of clothing and the clicks of heels that got softer and softer. Then there was nothing. She tried to move, but she was unable to get up. Her tiny white wings flapped wildly against her back, trying to take flight, but they could not support her weight. Then her weary wings drooped against her shoulders as she buried her head in her hands, sobbing. She once thought that the hero was untouchable, _invincible_, but she was faced with the reality that the world did not work that way.

* * *

"—_and I would have never thought that the supposedly clean-cut accident like the Black Pillar Incident would have caused such a controversial debate across this fine nation._"

"_It's like a generational split, m'dude! The old stick strictly to the man's rule while the young strive for freedom's exceptions."_

"_Strive for freedom's exceptions? What an undertone of negativity to the youth of our nation…_"

"_There were dark, hidden truths that exploded in people's faces, m'dude. It's not a surprise that the people are up in arms and divided on their opinions._"

Birdie sat on her futon, staring at the tiny radio playing on the table in the middle of her tiny apartment. When Raven stepped up to speak the truth, the nation was flipped upside down. The news stations went wild retelling her story to the conflicted citizens.

The five victims claimed to be innocent lives taken in the blast were not innocent at all. They were elite politicians that ran a cult and operated a large human-trafficking ring for sex slaves. Raven's father was one of the ringleaders, and her late mother was one of his many victims. Raven's mother was enslaved for many years and gave birth to his two bastard children before she committed suicide to end it all. The reason Raven never spoke up was because of blackmail. The families of these politicians wanted the story to disappear for the sake of their reputations, but Raven wanted to speak nothing but the truth. The families posed a deal: Shark would remain anonymous if the story went away, but if the story was revealed to the public, Shark would be declared a villain. Shark was just a hot-headed teenager that wanted to save Raven before she was auctioned off like a prized trophy to be used and abused. Shark used any means possible to save her, which lead to the large explosion. Shark never intended for the explosion to be so large and kill five men, but neither him or Raven had remorse for the deaths of those men. In the end, Shark had a private trail for his crimes, and the families still had to pay retribution to the many victims. The rest of the public saw the accident as just that: an accident.

"_That Raven chick was real bold to say that good people do bad things for a good reason, especially when it deals with crazy love. It makes me wonder why the hell no one agrees with her hands down. Shark saved her and probably thousands of people, m'dude! Who cares if a few monsters were taken care of in the long run._"

"_That wasn't his job to do. Us 'old' people are upset, and for good reason. We have laws, rules and regulations to follow so we __don't __become the villains that we despise so much, especially since that League of Villains tried to taint our fair country with their vile ideals. How the politicians families hid this away from the public is more concerning then anything else. It shows high levels of corruption and conspiracy in this fine country. We need to have faith in our government or else villains will prod whole into the public one more._"

"_Y'know, m'dude…the Black Pillar Incident is pretty similar to that other high profile investigation going on about Hawks—_"

Birdie leapt from her futon and scrambled to the table, quickly turning off the radio when the broadcast brought up the hero's investigation. She didn't have the heart to listen to another word anyone had to say about the hero. For two weeks, she was interrogated by the police and listened to every news outlet report about the hero's mysterious actions at the warehouse. It caused more of a split than when Shark's past was put on display for the entire world. She wanted to stand firm in what she believed, that she was saved by a hero, but her mind started to concoct a new belief as time went on.

What if she was wrong? Maybe she shouldn't have hid the truth.

She still firmly believed Hawks was a good man with good intentions, but his actions showed signs that his mind was not in the right place. If she told the truth, then maybe Hawks could get the help he needed. Shark was given the help he needed after the Black Pillar incident. Raven told stories of how he went to therapy, had to finish school in juvie and even did three years of community service. Then he was free to choose his own path, and he chose the path of a hero. Shark became a fabulous hero who had the support of the government when his past was put in the limelight. She wanted the same for Hawks, but she was conflicted. The last time she tried to help, she ended up making the situation worse.

Birdie clutched the little red feather in her hands, the pressure causing her entire body to tremble. The plume wiggled lively against her palm, the bristles nuzzling her skin. The little red feather used to ease her worries; she knew the hero was watching over her. But now, she felt lost and didn't know what to do next.

Then there was a series of light knocks on the door, and Birdie hesitated to answer it. She was worried that the police had returned to take her back to the station for more questions. Since they couldn't get anything new out of her, they had sent her back home until they needed her again. The rap of knuckles against the thick wood continued, so the dove begrudgingly got up and opened the door. Her eyes open wide in shock when she saw who was standing in the hallway.

"Hey, Birdie… Long time no see."

"_Canary?_"

Canary stood in the doorway sheepishly, fidgeting to and fro on her heels. Her former coworker looked very tired. Large bags were under her eyes, and her long blonde hair was a frizzy mess. Canary wore a very feminine trench coat; the crimson fabric looked smooth to the touch, but tiny yellow feathers decorated her shoulders. Her yellow wings were bristled, the plumes unkempt and they fell to the floor as she swayed from side to side anxiously.

"_Yeaaaah,_" Canary chuckled lightly, scratching the back of her head. "It _has _been awhile, hasn't it? …May I come in?"

"S—Sure…"

Birdie stepped aside, allowing Canary into her tiny home. Canary curiously looked around, taking in the barren room with a frown. Then she plopped down on the floor at the table, placing her large black purse beside her with a loud _thump_. Birdie offered Canary the worn cushion to sit on, but Canary turned it down with a small smile and shake of her head.

"Would you like some tea?" Birdie continued, trying to be a good hostess.

"Tea would be lovely," Canary smiled. "Thank you, Birdie."

Birdie scrambled to the tiny kitchen to fix her guest a cup of tea. The kettle was already on the stove with hot water, so brewing the cheap tea was quick. Then Birdie carefully carried the mugs back to the table, placing one cup in front of Canary before sitting down herself. Canary mumbled another small thanks before she took a small sip of her tea, but then her worn features contorted into a twisted expression. Canary smacked her lips in distaste, as if she just took a bite out of a lemon.

"It—It might be a little sour," Birdie warned, a tiny bead of sweat on her brow when she saw the look on Canary's face. "It's a herbal tea to help with stress. I…I haven't been able to smooth out all the wrinkles in my life with how hectic it's been for a few weeks…"

Canary frowned as she placed the mug down on the table, her fingers tightly wrapping around the smooth porcelain surface. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"You probably didn't hear about what happened…" Birdie's finger traced the lip of her mug, the warm steam wafting up against her skin. The dove was somewhat grateful that the police had kept her identity close to their chest. Detective Shepherd claimed that Hawks wouldn't cooperate unless her name remained a secret to the media.

"No, I know about it. I was somewhat involved; becoming a target and all. I was questioned, too." Canary reached out, grabbing Birdie's hand and she gave the dove's fingers a firm, but comforting squeeze. "I don't even think saying sorry is enough, but I am _truly_ sorry you had to go through all that. I…I wish I could have done something more; _anything_ to help you."

"I think it was for the best," Birdie offered a small smile in return. "Mister Wolfe was calling you _37_, Canary. It's good you just..._disappeared _that day. I was worried about you, though. Were you upset about what happened to Fox? You…You really shouldn't be, if you were. He was more of a wolf in sheep's skin than Mister Wolfe himself…"

"It wasn't because of Fox," Canary replied calmly, pulling her hand away from the dove's and she gripped the mug again. She stared down at the murky black liquid, and she pursed her lips into a thin line. Her teal painted nails started to scratch against the mug's polished surface as she slowly answered: "It was because my job was done."

Birdie's brows furrowed in confusion, and she cocked her head to the side. "At the restaurant…?"

Canary shook her head. "_Undercover_ job."

Birdie blinked, slowly processing the stressed word. Then her eyes opened wide and she gasped. "You're a _cop?!_"

"_Detective,_" Canary corrected with a small, but sad smirk. "Detective Canary, at your service."

"I'm surprised you were an undercover agent," Birdie was blunt. "You don't have the knack for acting to pull it off."

Canary chuckled lightly, and she scratched the side of her cheek as a tiny bead of sweat trickled down her brow. "I—It's 'cause I fit the bill for potential victim," the detective explained. "Y'know, we were convinced that the operation ringleader was Wolfe, and we couldn't let him get away. So, off I was sent, _hehehe…_" and she glanced away, a guilty gleam in her green eyes.

Birdie stared at the detective, a blank look in her eyes. "You really _are_ a horrible liar."

"_Eeeeh?_" Two more beads of sweat formed on Canary's brow, the droplets much larger this time. "I—It's not like it's _not_ true, it's just a _half-truth_, b—but I guess it's still _that_ noticeable, huh?" The detective let out a deep sigh, her shoulders dropping and her yellow wings drooping against them. "As a seeker for truth, I can only speak the truth. Or else I just look like a lying moron. It's…It's because _he_ asked me to."

Again, Birdie blinked and slowly processed the stressed word. Then her eyes opened wide and she gasped even louder. "_Hawks_ did!?" The dove covered her mouth from the shock. "W—Why would he ask you to do something so dangerous?!"

"Because he cares about _you_, Birdie," Canary answered, pointing at Birdie and tapped the tip of her finger against the dove's brow. "I've known that little bitch for years and, lemme tell ya, I have never seen him want to protect another person so badly before."

"You've known him for years…" Birdie repeated slowly, anxiously playing with the white plumes of her wing. Then she leaned forward, sheepishly whispering: "Then does that mean you know…_what_ he does?"

"Yes, I do," Canary admitted calmly. "_But_, he wasn't always like this, Birdie. He changed after the League of Villains popped up two years ago. Even though they're gone now, he's still like _this_. He is _not_ a bad person, it's just…" the detective trailed off, a pained look in her green eyes. "He…he isn't a bad person."

Birdie glanced away, clutching the little red feather close to her chest. "I know," she agreed, a sad smile on her lips. "I know he's a very good person."

"He's really worried about ya, y'know?" Canary added. "He can tell you're upset," and she motioned toward Birdie's hands that held the tiny plume. "He's worried you might hate him now, because of the things that Detective Shepherd has said during your interrogation. I was surprised that old fart let you have it during questioning, but it probably was another method to get Hawks to cooperate, y'know…?"

"_I don't hate him!_" Birdie answered quickly. "I could never hate him! I don't care what Detective Shepherd says, or anyone else! They're all _dummies!_ Stupid dummies! Big, stupid, blind dummies if they can't see that Hawks is a hero—!"

Canary silently watched as Birdie frantically defended the hero to the point of hysteria. Birdie's little white wings fluttered violently behind her back, causing lose plumes to swirl around the room. Tiny tears of frustration formed at the corner of her eyes as she continued to rant.

Then Canary interrupted the dove. "He can tell you're conflicted, Birdie."

Birdie froze. Her wings flopped against her shoulders and her hands fell onto her lap. Small tears ran down her cheeks as she sat there for a moment, staring down at the little red feather that wiggled against her chest. "I'm worried I did the wrong thing," Birdie answered honestly, speaking more to the feather than the detective. "The more I'm questioned, and the more opinions I hear, the more I feel like I did the wrong thing."

"That's something I ask myself a lot, y'know?" Canary groaned. "_Is this the best way I can help my friend? _I gave him the idea of a hideout because I was worried and wanted to help his sorry ass stay safe. When his change became more drastic, he didn't care how he looked. The police saw his aggressive actions, or that he was covered in _blood_ that wasn't his own. They got so suspicious even though he was never direct. They couldn't pin anything on him, but I couldn't stand by idly and watch someone I care about dive into madness. _But_ _I am_ _wrong to do this?_ I've asked it for two years, and y'know what? I believe in him. No matter what shitty operation or scheme he wraps me up in like a burrito, I still believe in him."

"My situation must have been quite the _big_ burrito then…" Birdie mumbled, sheepishly plucking feathers from her wing. "He changed up his indirect methods to…_direct_ because of me."

"It was a roller-coaster of emotions for him, Birdie." Canary frowned. "When he found out you were the next target, he was determined to use any means necessary to stop those monsters. Y'know, the end justifies the mean. So, even _I_ admit that Detective Shepherd was right. Hawks _was_ going to use you as bait, but then he switched his tune. Something triggered him. He suddenly got _extremely_ agitated about the idea of you being bait. He kept going on and on about how he was fated to save you and protect you from anything, but…"

Birdie shifted in her seat when she saw the detective trail off with such a distraught look on her face. "B—But _what?_" The dove spoke up shakily.

Canary didn't respond right away. The detective took a long sip of her tea as her large yellow wings flittered anxiously behind her back. Then she placed the empty mug back on the table with a heavy sigh. "I was worried that his sudden attachment was going to hurt you," she explained. "He wanted to follow you _everywhere_ for his strange-fated-conquest to protect you, but that's not the brightest idea for a hero who is constantly patrolling the streets for danger…"

"I always knew I was a magnet for trouble," Birdie chuckled awkwardly. "Even if it comes in hero form."

"If you're joking about this, I'll assume it doesn't bug you," Canary grumbled, slightly annoyed.

Birdie smiled lightly. "I figured that was the case. It wasn't on purpose, but in the end, it happened because he was a hero."

"I warned him that he was gonna hurt you," Canary grunted. "And y'know what? He learned the hard way that he could hurt a person without being physical. It hit him hard. _Really hard_. I don't think I ever saw him get that…_sad_ before."

Birdie fiddled with her wing, running her fingers through the white plumes. "I knew he felt guilty because of that check he sent me, but I never realized how torn up he was about that whole situation. No wonder he was so happy when I came to explain the situation to him…"

"He was ecstatic to know he didn't hurt you, and that's why he asked me to help him," Canary brought the conversation around full circle. "He didn't want there to be a single chance that you'd get hurt. He asked me to go undercover and play the part of bait. He wanted to make sure I was the next target instead of you. Your safety became his No. 1 priority."

Birdie frowned. "I…I don't know how I feel about that. He put you in harm's way for my sake."

"I am a _detective_, Birdie." Canary grinned coyly. "I'm determined to keep innocent civilians safe, which is why I was happy to see Hawks striving to save a life instead—"

"But d—d-d-didn't I just made him _worse?_" Birdie yelped, a startled look in her emerald eyes. "He—he—!" Then Birdie quickly covered her mouth and leaned in extremely close to Canary. She uncovered her mouth and lowered her voice, whispering: "He _killed_ them."

"Yes," Canary nodded with a grim frown. "His determination to keep you safe really…_fucked_ with his mind when he saw you get hurt, _but_," the detective quickly added before the dove could speak another word. "He also _saved_ you. He…He hasn't truly saved people in a long time, Birdie. It's like he's been _ignoring_ victims 'cause the ends justify the means. Just a few lives for the greater good. He wasn't like that before. He _always_ saved everyone. So, I'm happy he _saved_ someone again. It might be a tiny step back, but still a step in the right direction."

Birdie stared at the detective in shock, but then a soft expression came to her features as she held the little red feather in her hands. The bristles gently brushed against her skin. "If you say it was in the right direction, than I trust you. I could tell if you were hiding something else, anyway."

"_Heh, _I guess that's one way to earn someone's trust," Canary chuckled, sheepishly rubbing the back of her neck. Then she looked to the dove with a soft smile. "I hope you are feeling better now."

Birdie nodded. "You helped clear up my doubts. I don't feel like my choice was wrong. Not at all. I'll keep on helping him because I know he is a good hero. And who knows," the dove's little white wings fluttered happily behind her back, and a sweet smile graced her lips. "Maybe it was _my_ fate to help him."

Canary slapped her rosy-red cheeks with both hands, and a delightful little twinkle was in her green eyes. "That was so cute, _I can't even._"

Birdie glanced away to hide her pink cheeks, and she chuckled anxiously. "A—Anyway, please let Hawks know I'm alright now."

"No need," Canary cast aside the request with a swift wave of her hand. "He already knows."

"Oh, right. The feather…"

"I'm sure he is _very_ pleased with what you said. He's probably tickled pink n' Detective Shepherd has no idea what the hell to do with a giddy birdy."

"Looks like I really _am_ a trouble magnet. Detective Shepherd might call me back to the station on the grounds of suspicion that we secretly met up against his orders…"

Canary chuckled in amusement at Birdie's playful pout, but then the detective's attention was diverted by a tiny beep. Canary rooted through her large purse and pulled out her phone. "_Hmm,_" her lips were drawn into a thin line. Then she quickly stood up, hauling her purse up over her shoulder. "Looks like I have to head out. They need me down at the station."

"Be careful on your way back," Birdie told Canary as she escorted the detective to the door.

"Don't worry, I'll be _fiiiiine, _sweetums," Canary flashed the dove a coy grin as she stepped out into the hallway. "I'll give ya an update on our little goody-birdy-boi the next time I visit, 'kay?"

Birdie smiled brightly. "I look forward to it," and then she sent the detective one final wave before gently shutting the door.

When Birdie was finally alone, she let out a heavy, but relieved sigh as she collapsed onto the floor. It felt like a giant weight lifted from her shoulders. She looked down at the little red feather in her hands, and held it close to her chest with a happy smile. Suddenly the little plume wiggled out of her grasp, slipping between her fingers and fluttering across the room to the window. Birdie gasped, terrified when the broken piece of black twine fell to the floor. The window was open. She scrambled onto her feet and stumbled over them trying to catch it.

She reached out desperately, leaning over the windowsill to snare the wiggly plume. "_Gotcha!_" She felt the little red feather wiggle violently in her grasp, hopping like an excited jumping bean.

Then a peculiar sound filtered through her ears, making her shudder. It was a sweet little tune; the twitter and tweet of a songbird late at night. Curiously, Birdie looked around to find the source.

The streets were dark and quiet. The streetlight outside her window flickered as the detective strolled down the narrow alleyway, the clicks of her heels echoing off the walls. Canary seemed to notice the dove's stare and she looked up at the third story window with a grin, blowing Birdie a loving kiss. Birdie awkwardly waved back, but aside from the detective, there were only a few crows perched on the power-lines strung across the roofs like a canopy. A crow was no bird that could carry such a soft tune.

Birdie was about to turn away when a flurry of red overwhelmed her vision, making her jump back with her hands up in defense. She was about to let out a startled scream, but her voice was muted by a pair of lips. She was stunned, frozen into place, her cheeks flaring up with heat. It took a moment for her to realize that it was Hawks who clung to her windowsill and leaned in to give her a surprise kiss. Birdie gasped against his lip and she grabbed his cheeks, pulling him in closer. Hawks wings flapped zealously in response, his red plumes beating against the pink bricks of the apartment complex.

"You little bitch!" It was the voice of the detective. Canary was fuming at the sight of the hero and she kicked up her foot. "You're not supposed to be here! You're gonna get Birdie in trouble, you bad-bird-boi!" Then she removed the black stiletto heel and chucked it at the hero.

Never faltering in the kiss he shared with the dove, Hawks held up a single hand and caught the shoe with ease, which made the detective roared in frustration. Canary's loud voice caused the silent night to stir: dogs barked, cats howled, and window lights flickered on.

Then Hawks pulled away, smiling lovingly at the dove. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Birdie replied softly, caressing his cheeks with her thumbs. Then her pink-tinted cheeks turned a violent shade of red when she realized what she just did.

_I can't believe you just did that, Birdie! _She leapt back with a yelp, covering her face in embarrassment. _I just got swept up in the moment that I couldn't help myself, Birdie! You missed him so much that you didn't even realize that you just had your first, real romantic kiss with the nation's No. 2 Hero! What the heck, Birdie!? You just kissed the Winged Hero Hawks!_

"Uh-huh," Hawks casually tossed the black stiletto in his hand up and down, and then he leaned in to give her lips another quick peck.

Birdie felt millions of little questions marks cloud her mind, but then they all cleared and her face turned a deeper shade of dark red. "_Oooooh my god, I just said that all out loud!_"

"_Uh-huh,_" Hawks mused, wiggling his eyebrows at her. "It's cute that you refer to yourself in third person."

"_Oh. My. GOD._" Birdie was mortified.

Hawks chuckled as he drew closer to shower her with a flurry of kisses, and Birdie felt dizzy as his lips left a soft, feathery trail along her skin.

"Hey! Stop being romantic as fuck for five second and give me back my shoe!"

Hawks paused and looked at the stiletto still in his hand. Then he shrugged and tossed it back to the detective.

Canary caught the stiletto with ease shoved her shoe back on her foot, grumbling angrily. "And hurry the fuck up! You're gonna get her in trouble, ya dumb biiiiitch!"

Hawks looked back to the dove, an apologetic look in his amber eyes. "Canary is right. I need to go before they realize where I went. Detective Shepherd is probably already on a blood hunt for my head."

"So…this is goodbye then," Birdie frowned, a watery gloss over her emerald eyes.

"Only for now," Hawks whispered, and he cradled her chin delicately in his hand. "As soon as I'm released, I'll come to you right away. So, don't forget about me, okay?"

"I won't," Birdie smiled and, hesitantly, she kissed him. "I—I don't think I—I ever c—c-c-could—" Then she hid her face with her hands, feeling extremely embarrassed for what she had done. _You can't even look him in the eye now_, the dove groaned, _that's what you get for trying to be romantic, damnit Birdie!_

"...But it was sweet."

"_Nooo!_ _That was out loud again!_"

Hawks chuckled, and this time, he ruffled her ivory curls for their final farewell; he took pity on the dove's poor heart. Then he leapt away from the railing and he dove into the street, gathering the disgruntled detective in his arms, which made Canary screamed into the night about how she hated flying with a little bitch like him.


	8. Episode 1: Hunger, Chapter VIII

**Birds of a Feather**

**Episode 1: Hunger**

**Chapter**** VIII: November 23rd**

Birdie cleared the dirty dishes from the large circular table and then placed them in the plastic tub she balanced on her hip. With a huff, she left the table to the hostesses to reset before new customers arrived.

It was between rush hours, so there where only a few patrons sitting inside the elegant dining room and outside on the decorative balcony. The restaurant known as _Coop_ was famous for its breathtaking view of the city skyline from the 36th floor. However, in the colder seasons, the staff was required to wear elegant white coats, gloves and earmuffs as a part of their uniforms. Even the patrons had to wear their coats while they ate, which confused Birdie. She wasn't sure _why _someone would pay to eat food in the cold, or possibly the snow. She was told by the cooks that is was a part of the artistic experience of fine dining. Birdie thought it was stupid, but she kept that to herself. She didn't want to get one of the owner's infamous strikes. If she got three…she was out.

Birdie trembled when a cold breeze brushed against her cheeks and she hurried to the kitchen to pass the tub of dirty dishes to the dishwasher. The kitchen was lively. The aroma of gourmet food seeped into the walls, which made Birdie's mouth water. The sizzling meat on the open grill and boiling stews on the stove created a thick fog across the room. The head chef's boisterous gobble rang through the pots and pans. She stood tall despite her short figure, and her colorful fan of tail feathers bristled angrily as she shouted at the other cooks like a drill sergeant.

Birdie shuffled passed the waitresses waiting by the counter for food. The tall women pruned their wings, showering the dove in a mist of brown, black and tan feathers. Along the way, she saw three familiar faces: Frog, Toad and Salamander. The three cooks had also gone through a few weeks of questioning because of what happened that summer. They weren't involved with Wolfe's scheme, but it still scarred the three men to know what happened to a few of their birdy friends. With time, they were able to recover and carry on. They had even stayed in touch with Birdie and helped her get a job as a busser at the very illustrious _Coop_. Though, they always complained about the head chef's unbearable attitude whenever they walked to the station after work.

Frog discreetly waved Birdie over and sneaked her a small slice of strawberry while the head chef's back was turned. The small treat gave Birdie some energy to keep working. She had the last lunch slot available on the schedule, which meant she would be starving by that time. When the head chef saw Birdie and Frog together, the woman sent them a sour scowl. Birdie scurried away, but then a string of muffled beeps from her pocket distracted her tactical retreat.

Birdie pulled out her phone and saw multiple text messages from Canary, which made the dove's tiny wings flutter. With a smile, she quickly headed to the breakroom, eager to reply.

"_Birdie, Birdie, Birdie~you heading out to break, too~?_"

Birdie paused when she heard _that_ voice sweetly sing behind her. Then she looked over her shoulder to see Falcon, one of her new coworkers. Falcon was the only man on the mainly female wait-staff. He was quite the charmer and drew in a lot of female customers both young and old. Even Birdie would admit that Falcon was a very handsome young man. His light brown hair was cut and styled with a modern spiky undercut, his sharp eyes had an alluring blue hue, and his narrow nose had a tiny diamond stud piercing, but his personality was overbearing and aggressive. Birdie only had room in her life for one overbearing and aggressive personality: no more, no less.

Falcon stepped closer, his large brown wings flittering happily behind his back. A bright grin spread from ear to ear on his face while he waited patiently for her to reply. Suddenly the waitresses snapped their attention on the pair. Intense fires burned in their dark eyes, and their feathers warped into crooked shapes.

Birdie felt a bead of cold sweat on her brow. "J—Just for a minute."

"Cool, cool, cool," Falcon smiled softly, his wings flittering eagerly. "Mind if I join you?"

"_Um_…" Birdie was momentarily dazed, more focused on the scene behind Falcon.

Birdie was disturbed by how swiftly the waitresses stalked behind him just to scowl ominously over his shoulders. Falcon was completely oblivious to the malicious aura looming behind him like a feral predator that wanted blood.

Birdie took a step back and started to shake her head. "I don't—"

"_Awesome~!_" Falcon ignored her reaction and didn't bother listening as he pushed Birdie toward the breakroom.

Birdie felt the icy glares of envy until Falcon closed the door. The chaos from the kitchen turned into a quiet murmur as the two sat down at the table in the middle of the narrow room. Falcon propped his elbow up on the table and rested his chin on his hand. He smiled at her blissfully, his brown wings stirring restlessly, and Birdie was smothered in the awkward silence. She wanted to call Canary, but she couldn't do that in front of Falcon.

"_So_, how've you been doing, _Birdie~?_" Falcon spoke up, singing her name adoringly. "Work treating you well? Settling in nicely? It's nice having such a pretty birdy around. The other girls here are a bit…_rough_ around the edges."

"They are birds of prey," Birdie was short. "It's apart of their Quirks to be tough."

"Touché," Falcon chuckled. "_Soo_, you doing anything interesting this weekend?"

"I'm not sure yet," Birdie answered. "I'm still making plans with a friend."

"_Aw_," Falcon clicked his tongue in disappointment. "What a lucky guy," then he sighed, frowning sadly.

"_Uh_," Birdie shifted in her seat and then corrected him. "Lucky _gal_."

"_Aaaaah_, my bad, my bad." The cheerful expression returned to Falcon's features quickly. "_Sooo_, since your weekend is booked, do ya wanna hang out after work?"

"N—No, thank you." Birdie shook her head. "I appreciate the offer though."

"_C'moooon_, Birdie." Falcon frowned sadly and he leaned in closer, trying to plead with her. "It's not like it's just gonna be the two of us? _Everyone_ will be there. Kestrel, Harrier, Circinae, Hobby, Eagle, _and_ the Kite Twins are gonna be there, too. You've been working here for two months and you haven't hung out with us at all! You hang out with the Amphibian Boys, why not us? Kestrel is spreading rumors 'bout how you don't like us, but that ain't true, right?"

"Of course th—that's _not_ true! I think you're all very nice people and I would love to go to the bar, but I…" Birdie paused, glancing away sheepishly. "My dad and mom don't like it when I'm out too late."

"You're _25_, Birdie." Falcon was blunt, a serious look in his blue eyes. "Dontcha think you can make _your _own decisions by now?"

"They're just worrywarts, and it helps put their weary hearts at ease." Birdie replied, smiling weakly. "I got into a few accidents over the summer, so I try my best to be home by 9 P.M. sharp. The guys just walk me to the station because they know I can be a magnet for trouble… Still working things out with Karma, but it's getting better."

Falcon blinked, staring at her for a moment. "_Hmph_," then he smirked coyly. "Can't argue with an adorably honest answer like that coming from such a pretty birdy."

"Th—Thank you?" There was noticeable uncertainty in her voice.

Birdie knew Falcon was a flirt; he charmed all the girls he met. Despite his obvious playboy attitude, he had himself a fan club within the female staff that absolutely adored him. Apparently, Birdie was the first girl to resist his charms, which caused his infatuation in her and also jealousy among the fan club. That was Canary's theory at least, but the more time Birdie remained in the situation, the more she felt that the detective was correct.

There was a sad look in Falcon's blue eyes when he saw her fidget uncomfortably. Then he smiled lightly, reaching out to brush aside her ivory bangs. "You really are a beautiful—_ouch!_" Falcon's eyes opened wide and he winced in pain, his arm recoiling. He cradled his forearm close to his chest. "—the _hell?_" He inspected his arm, and he inhaled sharply when he saw a tiny black bruise bloom on the skin.

Falcon clasped a hand over the blemish and he looked around the room frantically while Birdie held on tightly to a certain wiggly little red feather.

"W—W-W-What was that?" Birdie stuttered, clutching the red plume close to her chest. "W—Was it a bug?"

Falcon slowly stood up from his seat, a worried crease on his brow, and he shook his head. "It's _November_, Birdie," he countered the idea. "There aren't any bugs big enough to make a dent like this."

"I—It _must_ be a g—g-g-ghost." Birdie countered, nervous beads of sweat dripping down her brow.

Falcon was silent, staring at her blankly. "Ghost don't—"

"I—_I believe in them!_" Birdie declared boldly, an anxious tremor in her voice. "They _do_ exist! I—I think there is one haunting my apartment! It goes _stomp, stomp, stomp_ throughout the night and it moans constantly. For _hours!_ I have nightmares and I can't get any sleep because of it! S—So, it has to be a ghost!"

Falcon's blank stare continued, but then an amused spark twinkled in his blue eyes. "Birdie," he smirked mischievously. "Are you sure it wasn't your neighbors having _sex?_"

Birdie's cheeks burned bright red, and she shot up from her seat, shouting: "_Don't tease me!_" Then she retreated from the room.

She couldn't come up with a better excuse for a mysterious bruise other than a bug or a ghost. She had to use her horrified expression to her advantage or else Falcon would notice the very lively and angry feather. Even if it meant sounding like an idiot. However, she didn't expect Falcon to flip the conversation into something awkward.

Birdie groaned in annoyance. "This is _your_ fault," and she tugged gently on the little feather's bristles.

The tiny plume meekly drooped against her chest in response. Birdie sighed and shook off the encounter before grabbing the plastic tub she left by the dishwasher's station and then she headed back to the dining room.

A radiant orange light overtook the restaurant as the sun set over the horizon. Then the bright sky was covered with a stroke of black; only the brightest stars and the moon were visible in the darkness. More patrons gathered for dinner, and all servers were unleashed on the floor. Birdie worked hard to keep up with the pace of a full house, but she had some time between tables to rest. The bartender would slide her a glass of water and sneak her a few crackers to keep up her energy. The patrons slowly dwindled in size and the flow of work slowed down as Birdie cleaned the empty tables on the chilly balcony.

"—_the suspension for the Winged Hero has officially come to an end, folks!_"

Birdie jumped when she heard the thunderous voice rattle her eardrums, but her white wings eagerly flapped against her shoulders. The porcelain dishes clinked together as she tossed them into the plastic tub and then rushed to the railing, watching the jumbo-television mounted on the wide building across the street. The hero had to deal with media interviews before he could be considered truly free from the investigation. Canary started making plans for their reunion after Hawks had taken care of the press. Birdie could hardly wait. The thought of reuniting made her bounce on her heels and hold the little red feather tightly, blushing happily.

"_It was an excruciating three months for the young hero as police set out to investigate possible misconduct on the hero's part, buuuuut we have the man himself coming to answer a few questions about his time in the hot seat!_"

The screen broadcasted a hostess impatiently sitting on the edge of her seat. The young woman was bundled up in a bright pink coat and sat on a plush white chair in the middle of an open stage setup in a park downtown. She had a head of lively snakes that hissed in excitement when Hawks flew down gallantly from the sky and landed on the stage with grace. The hero waved to the audience that erupted into applause, and then he settled down in the matching chair beside the hostess. There was a calm expression on his features, but his large red wings fluttered feverishly behind his back, and Birdie felt the tiny plume wiggle happily against her palm.

"_So, Hawks, can you tell the folks at home just what it was like?_" The hostess asked, her long eyelashes flittering charmingly.

"_Well,_" Hawks rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "_I will admit it was difficult, but I had nothing to hide. I cooperated with the police any way that I could because I knew my actions were just. The conclusion of the investigation proved just that._"

"_I heard that the Public Safety Committee had your back through and through. They appeared to have more faith in your heroism than the police._"

"_The Committee was extremely supportive. This investigation would have lasted a whole lot longer if it weren't for them_."

"_How much support did you get from your fans? We did a poll with our viewers and it seems that your popularity stats have changed drastically in the course of three months. Fans from the younger generation increased while fans from the older generation decreased. Now, why would something like that happen?_"

"_Ha, that's hardly a question I need to answer, yeah?"_

"_Reeeally? Are you sure about that."_

"_I guess you wanna hear from the source himself, huh? Everyone has talked about the divide ever since the truth about the Black Pillar Incident came to light, and my case was similar to that one. It was because I chose to save a single victim, which led to the death of multiple villains._"

"_Quite true. Your actions went against the philosophy of heroism to most people. Hero's shouldn't disregard the lives of even villains because that makes them no better than the villains they combat._ _Do you think you could have saved those villains? Their testimonies would have been crucial to uncovering the truth of the 3Y-Cannibal Case and giving them the just punishment under the law._"

"_The police are still investigating the guest list from the Wolfe Estate,_" Hawks pointed out_. _"_They might have used aliases to hide their identities, but I am positive law enforcement will uncover who they are. They can't hide._"

"_Will you be continuing to help with the investigation?_"

"_I haven't been formally asked, but I will continue to look into this case._"

"_My, you are very invested in this case, aren't you? You'd think after all the trouble it caused you, you'd leave it to the police and be done with it._"

There was a small pause from the hero, then he answered: "…_I have to keep her safe._"

"_Who?_" The hostess was almost out of her seat, her head of snakes hissing in curiosity as the woman eyed the hero closely. "_Who was it? The victim? Her name was never released to the press and the nation is extremely curious about who the No. 2 Hero was so determined to save that he briefly lost sight of his heroism._"

"_Birdie~_"

Birdie squealed in surprise when her name was whispered huskily into her ear. A bitter chill ran up and down her spine, causing goosebumps to prickle across her skin. She whipped around, her cheeks stained an angry shade of red as she scowled at Falcon.

"_Holy crap,_" Falcon gasped, quickly covering his mouth, and his eyes opened wide. Then the shocked expression in his eyes settled down, and he removed his hand to reveal a coy smirk. "I swear, that gets cuter every time."

"I—I told you to stop doing that!" Birdie snapped, and she stomped her foot. "I—I prefer not to be startled, especially for y—your entertainment, Falcon!"

"Don't worry, _Birdie_~" Falcon hummed, leaning forward. Then he reached out to twirl one of her ivory curls around his long finger. "It's just a joke. It's not going to hurt you; I'd never hurt you. You know if anything serious were to happen, I'd keep my pretty little birdy safe from any harm. Maybe I can protect you from the ghost in your apartment. If you want…"

Birdie's eyes opened wide in shock. "U—U-U-_Um_—!"

"_That's all._"

"_W—What?_"

An anxious bead of sweat formed on Birdie's brow when she felt the red feather bristle angrily against her palms. Birdie shook Falcon away and she looked back at the television. On the screen, she saw Hawks stand up abruptly, his wings contorting into sharp curls, and there was a hollow look in his amber eyes.

"_I'm done._"

The hostess looked confused when she saw his wings spread out wide, and then she looked shocked when he got ready to take off.

"_W—Wait! Hawks—!_"

The hostess never got to finish as a powerful gust of wind interrupted her, and the hero disappeared in the blink of an eye. The little red feather slipped between Birdie's fingers, the black twine drifting away. On the breeze, she heard that familiar little tune: the whistle of a tiny little songbird.

"—the _hell?!_" Falcon's voice was drowned out by a violent draft that glided over the balcony.

A flurry of red consumed her and enveloped her in warmth; the roar of chaos was muted when Hawks embraced her. The hero wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled their chests flush together. Birdie's hands clutched the thick fabric of his jacket, staring up at him with wide emerald eyes. There wasn't a warm look in the amber hue, but rather an angry glare fueled by jealousy. His gloved fingers weaved through her ivory curls and he closed the distance between their lips. He was rough; the feverish heat of his desire spreading like wildfire into the dove. Her skin felt hot, her cheeks swelling a bright pink. Then Hawks bit down on her lower lip to make her gasp, and her entire face turned crimson when she felt his tongue dart into her mouth. The heat was unbearable and she wiggled in his grasp, but his grip remained firm, so she nipped his tongue in retaliation. Hawks flinched, pulling away from the kiss to stare blankly at Birdie's sour expression.

"Don't—" Birdie took a deep breath in and then out. "Don't do that."

Hawks was silent and his expression was void, but his wings flittered anxiously. He pulled her back to his chest, holding her close, like he was afraid she would fly away.

"_Birdie._"

Reality collided with her mind and her breath was caught in her throat. The amused howls rang in her ears. The familiar prying questions made her tremble in embarrassment, clutching the hero's jacket until her knuckles turned white.

"_Bir-dee._"

She couldn't ignore him anymore. Mechanically, she pushed and slipped away from the hero's arms. Then she turned around to face her very upset boss.

She was blinded by the bright camera flashes that illuminated the night. Birdie lowered her gaze, but it was a pitiful attempt to avoid the stares as dozens of curious patrons took photographs. Then a shadow crossed her eyes, her face cast in darkness. She looked up to see a large red wing shielding her from the cameras, but that allowed her to see just how angry her boss was.

Mister F. Leghorn puffed out his large chest, the maroon feathers of his rooster head bristled and steam whistled from his ears. His long yellow beak was crooked from his scowl, and there was a livid fire burning in his tiny eyes. "That's _Strike One,_" and he motioned to the mess on the balcony floor with his feathery white wing.

Birdie felt all the blood drain from her face as she looked down. The floor of the balcony was covered in shards of glass, pieces of porcelain and the tipped over plastic tub that originally stored the dishes. Even the tables and chairs were misplaced, shoved far away from the railing where she stood.

"B—But, s—s-s-sir," Birdie hesitantly tried to defend herself. "It…It was an accident. I didn't mean for it to happen. I had no control over the—"

"_Strike Two,_" Mister F. Leghorn snapped, cutting her off sharply. "Don't make excuses. You clean the mess," then the rooster pivoted on his heel and began walking away.

Birdie watched her boss usher the spectators away with the help of his intimidating staff of waitresses. Birdie secretly hoped the hero would come to her aid and say she wasn't at fault, but he remained silent and just continued to hold his wing like an umbrella over her head. Then she heard soft footsteps approach her.

Falcon peered under the wing that shielded her, and she only saw his grim frown for a split second before the red feathers shifted to hide his face. "You should probably do what he says, Birdie," Falcon calmly replied, unfazed by the feathers that obscured his view. "You don't want to get a third strike."

Birdie was silent for a moment. She grabbed a hold of her tiny wing and started to nervously prune white feathers. "…Right." Then she turned to Hawks, averting her gaze to avoid his glare. "You should probably go. I—I can't get in trouble anymore. I need this job…"

Hawks did not move.

Birdie started to shuffle away and she felt a harsh gust hit her back. She turned around, looking up at the night sky. She saw nothing but a few feathers drift away on the wind. Then the plumes zoomed away except for one tiny red feather that fluttered down and roosted comfortably among the white feathers of her wing. Birdie stood there for moment, a weak smile on her lips. Their reunion was more bitter than sweet, but the presence of the little red feather was comforting. Birdie felt guilty to pin some of the blame on the hero, but he _did_ let his jealousy get the better of him and caused some minor destruction. Though, the hero wouldn't have acted out if she was firmer with Falcon. Falcon knew how to press her buttons, but she would try harder to put her foot down, even if it meant stomping on toes to do so.

Birdie put aside her thoughts and then did as she was told. She swept up the mess, threw it away and fixed the balcony setup, but work didn't become easier. The customers and her coworkers watched. She heard the rumors they whispered. The words were disturbing and invasive, labeling her character with twisted fantasies. The opinions and theories made her cheeks flare up in embarrassment. She thought she could escape their words when she left work, but the media had already swarmed the entrance. With just one look on her phone, she saw that the tabloids wanted to uncover a juicy scoop about the hero's private affairs. They were already theorizing that she was the victim that the hero was so desperate to save from the 3Y-Cannibal Case. In a matter of hours, she had become pseudo-famous and was terrified at the thought of facing the press. It made her sick to her stomach how quickly people connected the dots after the police were so careful to keep her identity a secret for nearly four months.

She watched from the back of the lobby as security kept the reporters at bay, then she was dragged away. There was an icy grasp on her heart, but it quickly melted when she saw it was Frog, Toad and Salamander. The three concerned cooks quickly disguised her, wrapping her up in Frog's heavy coat and they snuck her out through the back. With the cooks help, Birdie avoided the reporters and returned home safely. The Amphibian Boys didn't ask her any questions about her relationship with the hero nor did they comment on the crooked appearance of the Pink Palace. It was the little things that mattered to her at that point, which allowed her to unwind after the tense night. Hawks had once mentioned that any curiosity would vanish in a few days, but she felt this time would be different. She had to prepare for what was to come; she knew it was going to be intrusive.

When she was finally in the comfort of her home, she climbed onto the futon, curled up underneath the comforter and closed her eyes, but she couldn't fall asleep. Birdie twisted and turned, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that something _ominous_ loomed over her. It made her shift uncomfortably, but she saw the little spot of red in her wing and it gave her strength to look.

And she screamed.

She tumbled out of the futon, rolling across the floor as her blanket flew up into the air and then it flopped back down on her. She peered under the comforter and saw a black mass against her window, its shadow imprinted on the floor. Her heart thumped wildly against her chest as she quickly ran to the window.

"_Hawks!?_ What're you doing!?"

The hero didn't reply to her question. Hawks' hands and nose were pressed against the glass, and he scowled at her. A dark shadow covered his sharp eyes and his red wings harshly beat against the pink bricks, rattling the window panes.

Birdie shifted on her heels and then hesitantly placed her hands on the glass, her palms over his. "Are you...okay?"

Hawks' eyes narrowed and he banged his forehead against the glass. "_You forgot about me._"

"What?" Birdie blinked. "No," she shook her head. "No, I did not."

"_Falcon_," Hawks hissed venomously, and his fingers curled against the glass like crooked talons.

Birdie stared blankly at the terrifying expression plastered on his features. Then she sighed, disappointed, and she rested her forehead against the glass. "So. You _did_ get jealous of him…oh bother."

"I hate him," Hawks snapped, striking his forehead against the glass again. "He makes me mad. _Very mad._"

"But...he hasn't done anything wrong." Birdie countered calmly. "He's flirtatious, which is honestly annoying, but _normal_. I don't like it, and I need to try harder to make that clear, but there is no reason to get _this_ mad at him."

Hawks was silent, his angry glower never faltering. Then he whispered: "…I'm mad at you, too."

Birdie stared at the hero, blinking wildly in shock. A full two minutes passed before she bluntly said: "No, thank you," and she closed the curtains in one swift motion.

The hero's shadow vanished as the entire room was engulfed in darkness. Then she stomped over to her misplaced comforter, gathered it up in her arms and then flopped back onto her futon. _Nope. Nope. Nope, not tonight, Birdie_, she thought as she curled up into a ball underneath the covers. It was the middle of the night and she didn't want to deal with his bitterness. She knew he would calm down within a few hours, so she would talk to him about the situation tomorrow.

_Tick, tick, tick_.

The sound made Birdie shoot up in bed and stare at the door, watching in horror as the doorknob started to jiggle. There was a tiny _click_ that echoed off the walls and the hero burst into her room, a little red feather zooming from the doorknob back to his wing.

"_Hawks!_" Birdie gasped. "You can't do that!"

"I just did," Hawks was blunt as he shut the door, locking it firmly.

"You just got off suspension!" Birdie retorted.

"So what," Hawks brushed her comment aside and stalked across the room.

The hero loomed over her, falling to his hands and knees on the futon. Birdie was pinned underneath him, staring up at the void glare in his cold eyes that sent icy chills down her spine. She had learned how to deal with his sweet personality, but she had yet to truly face his bitterness when she was the target. The memories of the fear made her skin prickle and her heart started to race. It made her tremble, her cheeks flaring up with heat and her brows knotted together. Then she curled her fingers into two tight fists before she lashed out and slapped them against Hawks' cheeks, squeezing his face.

"_Don't make that face!_" She shouted. "_I don't like it!_"

Hawks continued to glare at her. "I'm _mad_," was his response, trying to shake off her grasp, and the motion made his visor slip off the bridge of his nose and plopped onto her pillow.

"Fine! You can be mad!" Birdie retorted, pulling at his cheeks until his skin turned red. "But! Stop! Making! That! Face! _It's scary!_"

Hawks' eyes opened wide in shock, his skin going pale. The harsh expression chiseled on his features crumbled away. His wings drooped and he slipped from her grasp, limply collapsing on top of her. Birdie yelped, pinned under his weight and the hero shifted. His wings fluttered anxiously against the floor as he moved to let her breath. Then Hawks wrapped his arms around her and buried his nose in the crook of her neck.

"Don't forget about me," he murmured against her skin.

"I told you, I didn't." Birdie placed a hand on his head, stroking his messy blonde hair. "I don't want to forget about you."

"You're _my_ pretty birdy," Hawks held her tightly. "No one else's."

"I know," Birdie nodded. "I am your birdy."

"_I _will be the one to keep you safe," Hawks added. "No one else."

"I know," Birdie nodded again. "I only want you to keep me safe."

Hawks fell silent as Birdie continued to run her fingers through his hair. The hero had mellowed out, breathing calmly, his back rising and falling steadily, but the dove noticed the feathers of his wings were fidgeting uncontrollably. Then he slowly got up, the comforter rustling against his movement. He sat on the futon and stared down at his lap, which made Birdie frown and move to sit beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Hawks reached over and grabbed her hand, holding it tightly. "…am I a bad person?"

"No," Birdie answered readily, placing her other hand over his. "You are a good person."

"If you ever don't like anything I do, please tell me," Hawks told her quietly.

"I could say the same thing," Birdie grinned, gently poking his cheek. "It's okay to get mad, even at me, as long as we talk about it, right?"

"We will always talk about it," Hawks smiled softly as he rested his head against hers and closed his eyes. "I promise."

Birdie hummed in content as she nestled in close beside the hero, and Hawks wrapped his arms around her before flopping back down onto the futon. His large wings fluttered restlessly before they settled down and enveloped the couple in a feathery cocoon. The warmth soothed her, and she finally drifted off into a deep sleep, though it felt too short.

An obnoxiously loud buzz woke her up and made Hawks groggily rise from the futon, digging through his jacket to pull out his phone. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, cursed the detective, shoved his phone back in his pocket then fell back onto the futon. Birdie tried to rouse Hawks when she saw that it was morning; she had to get ready for work and he needed to go to work. It took effort to get him up, but she was able to get ready for work and leave on time. Hawks held her hand as they walked down the stairs, the hero whistling happily despite the fact that he was extremely, grumpily tired as he waited outside her apartment. Birdie smiled, glad to see the hero in high spirits.

"Birdie. _What. The. Hell._"

Birdie winced, and she felt the hero's grip tighten protectively around her hand. Then the dove slowly turned to see a very upset Raven standing outside her apartment on the second floor.

Raven's large black wings flapped angrily, and there was a venomous scowl on her face. The sunlight that filtered through the window at the other end of the hall flickered around the walls, making the sequins on her extremely short purple dress glimmer brightly like stars. Raven had just returned home from a long night shift at the club, and she wasn't thrilled to see what she saw.

"Why are you with _him?_" Raven hissed, fires burning in her eyes.

"I—I—" Birdie gripped the hero's hand, trembling violently, but his grip was firm. The comforting strength did not stop the dove's jitters. She was unsure of how to explain her relationship with Hawks to Raven who absolutely _hated_ the winged hero. Birdie didn't want Raven to hate her because of the feelings she had for Hawks. Then words of reason entered the conversation to support the dove through her dilemma.

"Raven…" Shark peered through the doorway, his long crimson hair swaying slightly with the motion. The tall aquatic hero looked down at his girlfriend, frowning anxiously. "Please don't harass my new boss."

Birdie's eyes opened wide in shock. She was thankful that Shark came to help, but she didn't think his words of reason would be unleashing such a bombshell worth of news. The dove looked at the winged hero, waiting for an answer.

Hawks merely nodded with a grin.

Raven crossed her arms and looked away with a huff. "I still can't believe you accepted that _bastard's_ offer after what he did to you. I don't care that he apologized."

Shark shrugged, smirking coyly. "We're birds of a feather, eh?"

"_Tch,_" Raven was unamused by her boyfriend's response. She grumbled curses under her breath and stormed into the apartment out of sight.

"_Um_…" A small bead of cold sweat trickled down Shark's cheek when he saw his girlfriend's bristled black feathers. Then he shook his head, weakly smiling toward Birdie and Hawks. "Well, uh, I'll see you at work, sir."

Hawks gave his new sidekick a mock salute before walking away, dragging an awestruck Birdie with him. The winged hero held her hand and went back to happily whistling as they climbed down the steps, but the dove then tugged on his hand. Hawks stopped, looking at her in confusion. Then he smiled, seemingly understanding what she wanted. "Even I need to make amends when I make a mistake," was all he said before he returned to whistling.

Birdie dazedly followed as he pulled her along by the hand. Then a tiny pink blush spread across her cheeks as she smiled. Her pace quickened to match the hero's, her little white wings fluttering excitedly as they continued to walk down the stairs together. When they were outside the Pink Palace, the hero gathered the dove in his arms and flew her off in the blink of an eye. He dropped her off at work, landing on the roof since the entrance was still teeming with persistent reporters. Hawks made sure she was inside before he took off, leaving Birdie on her own. Though he was still present in spirit, the little red feather hidden among her white ones.

On her way down to _Coop_, she sent a quick text message to Frog that she was already at work and then she headed into the restaurant. She did her best to ignore the stares and whispers of her coworkers. The little red feather roosted in her wing gave her encouragement to stay strong, but she didn't realize how crazy her day would become.

She was constantly approached. Curious patrons would make small comments when she passed by their tables. Fans of the hero would either ask for pictures or chastised the flaws they saw in her. Reporters would sneak in to question her, which caused a scene every time security was ordered to escort them outside. The amount of attention was unsettling, but she was more terrified that Mister F. Leghorn would blame the disturbances on her like he did last night. She was lucky that her boss had yet to make an appearance.

Birdie took a small break on the balcony, taking a deep breath in and then out. A thin, white wisp fluttered past her lips as she leaned against the railing, watching small flurries fall from the grey clouds. The balcony only had a few patrons sitting at the tables, huddled under large umbrellas to eat their meals. Despite the cold, they looked pleased, which still confused her why _anyone_ would enjoy eating outside in the snow.

_People don't make any sense, do they, Birdie?_ She thought curiously. _No, they don't at all._

"Hey, Birdie…"

Birdie looked over her shoulder to see Falcon slowly approach her, keeping his distance as he joined her by the railing. She figured the hero's actions from the previous night might have finally deterred Falcon's flirtatious nature, which she was thankful for.

Falcon rested his forearms on the railing and stared out at the hazy cityscape, sighing deeply. "It's been a crazy day, huh? How are you holding up?"

"I'll live," Birdie replied. "I'm sure it will fade when something more interesting pops up," at least that is what she hoped, but she would keep that doubt to herself.

"True, true," Falcon nodded slowly. Then he ran his hand through his hair, a long frown on his lips as he mumbled. "I… I still can't believe your boyfriend is Hawks. _Thee_ Winged Hero Hawks."

Birdie blinked. "Oh?"

Falcon blinked, staring at her. "He _is_ your boyfriend, isn't he?"

"I… I think so?"

There was uncertainty in her voice because it just dawned on her that the hero never actually asked her out. _Does that mean we weren't official, Birdie? _She thought worriedly to herself. _But you kissed him. And he kissed you. That has to mean something, Birdie. It should mean something, but should the act of kissing make us an official couple? Why not, Birdie? Do you think he would actually complain about having the label. Probably not, but maybe I should ask Canary. Good idea; you have no idea how relationships work, especially of the romantic type._

A look of confusion twisted Falcon's expression, but then a sly smirk curled the at the corner of his lip. "So, he's your _boy friend_."

Birdie paused for a moment. She continued the mental debate, but then she nodded. "Yes," she said it more confidently this time.

Falcon's grin widened and he slid closer to her, their shoulders bumping together much to the dove's dismay. "_Heh_," he chuckled. "Works for me."

Birdie's brows knitted together in confusion and she inched away from him. She was unsure why Falcon suddenly reverted back to his flirtatious nature. _Isn't the statement 'I have a boyfriend' a mood killer for men, Birdie? _She wondered. _I dunno, Birdie. Boys don't make any sense._

While Birdie was puzzled, she instantly noticed that a certain someone wasn't. The little red feather darted from her wing and rapped against Falcon's forehead like a woodpecker's beak against wood. Falcon yelped in pain, clutching his brow as he stumbled away from the dove, and he bumped into a table behind him. Falcon was utterly mystified by the sight of a lively red plume that bristled like an angry cat in front of his face.

Then Birdie heard the whistle.

She broke out into a cold sweat and braced herself for the worst.

Hawks swooped in behind her, wrapping his arms around her tightly. Her stiff muscles relaxed in his grasp and her body followed the momentum of his landing. They both leaned forward rapidly, and the dove noticed the wild look in the hero's eyes as he violently smacked his forehead against Falcon's. Falcon shouted in agony, completely knocked off his feet by the powerful force behind the headbutt.

Falcon sat on the floor beside a toppled table and its chairs, clutching his forehead. Then a very thin stream of blood slipped down his brow. "Wha—Wha-_What the fuck!?_"

Hawks stood up straight, still holding Birdie close to his chest. There was a blank expression above the hero's collar as two streams of blood trickled from the tiny cut on his forehead. "Rough landing," Hawks mused, a chipper tone in his voice that did not reach the look in his eyes. "My bad," and he wiped the blood away with the back of his gloved hand.

Falcon stared up at the hero, dumbstruck.

Birdie was just as stunned by the hero's action, but then her heart leapt into her throat when she saw Mister F. Leghorn storming over. That's when she noticed the massive disturbance that was caused. It was just like the other night: a crowd at the balcony doorway, everyone staring, watching, taking pictures. Her boss was getting closer and closer, and Birdie retreated into herself like a turtle zipping into its shell. Hawks felt her tremble and twisted her around, hoisting her up in his arms. Then he spread his wings out wide and kicked off into the sky.

Birdie looked over the hero's shoulder, the balcony getting smaller and smaller. She watched as the tiny speck that was her boss puff out his chest and then scream to the heavens:

"**BIRRRRRDDDIIIEEEEE! SSSTRRRRIKE THRRRREEEE: YOU ARE FIIIIRRRRREED!**"

Then his thunderous voice faded in the wind.

Birdie closed her eyes, the wind rushing past her ears. She felt so guilty. The three cooks worked so hard to get her that job because it paid so well even as a measly busser. It was a tedious job, but a doable job. Now she would have to awkwardly ask one of the guys to get all of her stuff from her locker and return her uniform. Birdie didn't have the guts to face anyone at _Coop_ ever again.

"Crap," Sweat dripped down her twitchy brow. "I... I needed that job..."

"Nah."

Birdie blinked, opening her eyes to stare at the hero's blank expression. "E—_Eh?_" She stuttered in confusion. "_What?_ Are you _trying_ to make me dependent on you?"

"Yes."

Birdie pursed her lips, processing the hero's response. "...Well," the dove clicked her tongue. "Brownie points for honesty."

"I'll take care of you," Hawks was blunt as he lovingly nuzzled his cheek against hers.

"You do that whether I want it or not," Birdie sighed.

"That is how rescue works," Hawks clarified, chirping happily in her ear. "It's not something asked for, but something that needs to be done."

Birdie wiggled in his grip, and her fingertips kneaded the thick suede fabric of his jacket. "Don't—just keep your promise: that you won't guide accidents to me anymore. _Please_," and the dove started to get a little anxious when she noticed an alarming amount of little accidents popping up on the ground below them.

"That's why you have my feather," Hawks whispered sweetly as he held her closer. "I always know where you are with that. I can always hear you. Feel you. Touch you. The sensation is there, but it's not the same as having you here with me now," and then his grip tightened, making her squeak under the pressure.

Birdie watched him closely, seeing the warm glow radiating from his amber eyes. Then the dove wrapped her arms around his neck. "...You really missed me, didn't you?"

"I visited you often," Hawks admitted.

Birdie's brows furrowed into a straight line. "Of course you did," she shouldn't have put it past him.

"If you didn't notice, neither did the police."

Birdie sighed.

"You look cute when you sleep," Hawks told her.

Birdie blinked. "_Oooh my god_."

Hawks frowned, slightly disappointed. "...That's a compliment."

Birdie pursed her lips in thought. "...You know what," she nodded. "I'll take it. Thank you," and then she lightly kissed his cheek.

Hawks hummed in content, a light pink blush on his cheeks. Birdie's cheeks turned a matching shade of pink as she settled in his grasp, watching the world below them transforming terrains as they flew high in the sky. She didn't know where they were going, but as long as Hawks was by her side, she knew everything would be fine.

* * *

The screen of the television flickered. It was fuzzy, glitching frantically as the image of the famous winged hero landed on the pier off in the distance. The image bounced wildly as the figure of the hero got closer and closer while a news anchor ran down the rickety wooden dock.

"_Hawks! Hawks! Hawks! Is that her!? Is that her?!_"

The hero protectively held the young woman in his arms, but he looked at the microphone shoved in his face with a charming smile. "_Who?_"

"_The sole survivor of the 3Y-Cannibal Case! Their last victim! Is this the mysterious girl you just had to save no matter what!_"

Hawks cocked his head to the side, a baffled look in his eyes. "_No,_" he answered. "_She's my girlfriend._"

**CRRRRRRR—ACK!**

Glass shattered on the floor and murky liquid seeped into the ivory carpet. The potent scent of fermented grape penetrated the air, the old fruit souring the dark room. An inky shadow crossed the television, covering the image of the blushing young woman in the laughing hero's arms, casting them in an ominous darkness.

_To be continued..._


End file.
